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chloedrewitt · 5 months

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I Can See You - Stephen Strange x Reader [Christmas Special]

summary: You are a student of the mystic arts, studying at the Sanctum Sanctorum under Doctor Strange's and Wong's guidance. You are nearing the end of your apprenticeship, and ready to celebrate at the Kamar-Taj Christmas party, yet your growing attraction to Stephen makes it hard to focus on much else (not even those delicious roasted almonds you love so much). When you sprain your ankle, and Stephen is there to offer his aid, you realize that his cold demeanor towards you might not be because of negative feelings after all.

pairing: Stephen Strange x Apprentice!Reader

word count: 3k

warnings: age gap

a/n: Merry Christmas everyone! This is another contribution to my Swift series <3 and a Christmas special. My next one shots will be accepted requests.

Masterlist - Discord Server - Request Info - Taylor Swift Series

And we kept everything professional But something's changed, it's something I like They keep watchful eyes on us So it's best that we move fast and keep quiet

You were standing in the hallway of the Sanctum Sanctorum, a book in your hand. Quietly humming the tune you were listening to through your earbuds, you browsed the pages. The Sanctum was quiet, with Wong away on some business and Stephen having barricaded himself in his study. Most days were like this, so you had to find ways to entertain yourself when Stephen or Wong did not bother you with magical training.

You were in the last year of your apprenticeship and could call yourself a master of the mystic arts as soon as next year was only one week away. You had been looking forward to spending this month with Christmas activities, but had been met with extra work given to you by your fellow sorcerers. Although you were their apprentice, you had become more of a friend who was magically similarly powerful to them already, just in a different way.

As a natural witch, you had a certain affinity towards magic, yet the mystic arts were not the type of magic that was inherited and so you had had to work your way up the ladder just like any other student of Kamar-Taj had.

You hadn't been to Kamar-Taj in ages, so you were very excited about the Christmas party that would take place later today. You would see your friends from your first year at the temple again. It was extremely exciting to properly socialize since Stephen barely paid attention to you outside of his lectures and assignments, and you barely knew anyone from this city; you had grown up in a remote town far away from New York.

You put the book back where it belonged and left the living area to climb the large staircase that dominated the foyer. Its railing had been decorated with lights that glowed in even intervals.

“(y/n)!” You heard someone shout your name behind you, so you stopped in your tracks and turned around, tapping on your left earbud once so the music would stop.

Stephen stood in front of you with his arms crossed in front of his chest and an annoyed expression on his face.

“Have you finished your paper on interdimensional threat elimination yet? Wong said he’s still waiting for your email.”

“Of course,” you replied, taking the earbuds out and dropping them into your pocket. “I wanted to send it to him just now.” You wanted to say how unnecessary it was to give you one last assignment that was due on Christmas, and a theory one at that, but you bit your tongue and swallowed the thought.

He hummed a response, cold gaze lingering on you while he seemed to think about your answer. Without another word, Stephen then turned on his heel and left for the kitchen, leaving you standing on the staircase.

You sighed and continued towards your room. The way he spoke with you lately was getting on your nerves, and you realized how he could sometimes not even look at you. It stung, wondering how his opinion of you could have dropped this much, especially in regards to the secret feelings you harbored for the sorcerer.

You closed the door behind you when you reached your room, trying to forget the encounter you had just had. Your room was moderately sized, with antique furniture and a large golden mirror next to your king-sized bed, neatly made with green velvet bedding.

To get into the Christmas spirit, you had decorated your room a little with some lights and a wreath, whose four thick candles were each lit, enchanted so they wouldn't extinguish or transfer the flame to any flammable object.

You approached your desk in front of your window, letting yourself sink into the office chair in front of it. You had a good view of the business of Bleecker Street, so you observed for just a moment longer. There were many cars today, and people dressed in thick jackets that kept them safe from the falling snow, carrying presents in large bags or underneath their arms.

You smiled softly as you opened your laptop and quickly sent Wong and Stephen the PDF document. Normally, you would have gone over it again but today you really did not have the nerve or the motivation to do so. Besides, you had been done with it for almost a week already.

After placing your earbuds back inside their case and leaving them on your nightstand, you exited your room, heading down the hall to Stephen's study. It was the first room next to the stairs, and its door was typically closed. Today was no exception. You knocked carefully and pushed it open a bit.

“Yes?” Stephen said without looking up, keeping his eyes firmly on the book he held in his hands.

You opened the door further and leaned against the doorframe, studying your mentor with a raised eyebrow. Sometimes, you wondered if he used his excessive research as a coping mechanism, as there was no way a single person could be so intertwined with their work.

“I sent you the email,” you informed him, your eyes resting on the book in his hands. “And I was wondering when you would want to meet downstairs for the Christmas party at Kamar-Taj.”

Stephen sighed, placing the book back onto the shelf. He turned to face you, his expression unreadable.

"Right, the Christmas party," he said. "Wong mentioned it.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, trying to read him, realizing that he had forgotten all about it until now. You sighed, averting your gaze for a moment.

“You don't plan to attend?”

“I do not. It would be irresponsible of me to leave the Sanctum unattended on Christmas.” He walked around his desk and let himself fall into his chair, turning his PC on with a click of his mouse.

“The last time you went to a party was the full moon one two years ago,” you reminded him, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

He was about to reply when he stopped for a second, looking at you perplexed. “You remember that?”

“Either way,” you continued, ignoring his question as you placed one hand on his mahogany desk, “Wong said he'd make sure someone would be there to take care of the Sanctum. So if you want to come along, he and I will meet in the foyer at seven.”

Stephen looked up at you while his fingers ghosted over the keyboard of his PC, but you didn't give him time to answer as you turned and left his study, closing the door behind you.

It took you some time to get ready, and music could be heard coming from your room throughout it all. You had opted for a short red dress that sparkled in the light of your room. It was dark outside when you were done, and you were very thankful for the time spell put on Kamar-Taj today so that time zones did not matter. You couldn't imagine getting ready like this at eight in the morning.

You put on your heels, and grabbed your coat and a clutch before you left your room, locking it with your magic. The cold New York air caused goosebumps to appear on your legs; a window must have been opened somewhere.

You descended the stairs, gripping the railing to steady yourself in the heels you wore, careful not to trip. A smile appeared on your face as you spotted Wong standing at the foot of the stairs. He was dressed elegantly, yet not overly so for a simple Christmas party.

“Will Stephen not be joining us?” he asked, blinking at you while scanning the stairs behind you in search of the other man. You merely shrugged your shoulders in response.

Before you could reply, Stephen emerged from the Sanctum library to your right and joined the two of you. He wore a white shirt and a tie, his hands hidden inside the pockets of his black trousers. A red scarf hung around his shoulders, and you immediately recognized the cloak of levitation’s pattern in the fabric.

“And here I thought you'd be spending most of the evening studying a tome,” you teased, looking up at him to meet his eye.

“Well, this party can also be seen as a celebration of you becoming a master of the mystic arts. What kind of mentor would I be if I didn't celebrate that?”

Wong shook his head, extending his arms to create a portal in the middle of the Sanctum’s foyer. It came alive in a frame of sparks, glistening yellow and bright, reflecting in the gemstone you were wearing around your neck. It had no magic, yet it complemented your eyes.

“(y/n) is more of a friend than an apprentice, Stephen. To both of us. You should not see this as an obligation.”

You pursed your lips as the awkward silence that followed, but Wong had only said the words out loud that you had been thinking the entire past weeks.

Stephen did not reply and you could not bring yourself to meet his eye, so you only offered Wong a faint smile before stepping through the portal.

All three of you exited the portal in the heart of Kamar-Taj, where ancient buildings adorned with mystical symbols rose against the darkening sky. A warm, magical glow enveloped the surroundings as you entered the main building, greeted by practitioners of the mystic arts who were adorned in elaborate robes, mingled beneath enchanted decorations that turned the air into a cascade of glittering snowflakes. The aroma of exotic spices drifted through the air, and you immediately felt your mouth water.

You navigated through the lively crowd, and your face lit up when you spotted old friends and mentors from your time at the temple. You immediately engaged in conversation with them, Stephen and Wong joining you. Each of you took a drink from a nearby floating tray, clinking your glasses. Wong seemed to be feeling particularly sociable, but Stephen did not say much, his gaze occasionally landing on you or his wine glass.

“Please excuse me,” Stephen said after a while, leaning towards your little group so you could be heard better against the loud music and vibrant chatter around you.

When he turned to leave, he accidentally brushed his hand against yours in the process, causing you to freeze for a second and meet his gaze. His bright blue eyes held you captive, and you swore you could hear the music fade in the background. Before you could react in any way, however, Stephen had already cleared his throat and maneuvered around you, downing his drink.

You looked after him, lips slightly parted, before Roslyn, a girl who had started her magical studies around the same time as you, snapped you back into reality. “You good, (y/n)?”

“Um, yeah,” you replied, smiling a little awkwardly when you looked at Wong, who had a faint grin on his lips. “What?” you asked, almost snapped, but Wong only raised his arms in defense.

“I didn’t say anything.”

You cleared your throat again, offering the gathered a smile before excusing yourself as well. You found your way to the buffet outside with flushed cheeks, set up in a place usually used for training. The air was cool but not cold enough to make you shiver. You smiled at the faces that were familiar to you and muttered a few greetings when people approached you.

The buffet was large, but your focus lay on a bowl with roasted almonds, which you had always loved since you were a little child. You took a smaller bowl and a spoon and put some almonds in yours before leaving the training area, popping one deliciously sweet almond into your mouth. As you were about to climb the flight of stairs leading back up to the main building, a drunk boy, who couldn't have been older than sixteen, bumped into you.

You tried to regain your balance, but you stepped onto the stone floor wrong, causing your ankle to twist at an awkward angle. Hissing, you held your ankle as a sharp pain shot through your leg. Your bowl of almonds had shattered on the ground next to you, and you stoically twirled your hand, using witchcraft to make the pieces disappear. The mystic arts required too much concentration and handwork at times, and your innate magic often came in handy.

“Watch where you’re going, dude!” you shouted, but the boy had already left. He probably did not even realize what happened.

You attempted to walk, but each step hurt more than the other, so you took your heels off and limped into the building. Shoes dangling from your right hand, you used the other to hold onto pillars and walls to stabilize yourself, trying to find a quiet spot. At this time, the library would be empty, and it was not far either.

With the aid of magic, you opened the heavy library door and let it fall shut behind you, exhaling deeply as the loud noises were muffled by the door. Cursing, you slowly walked over to an armchair nearby and sat down on it. Your heels landed on the floor, your hands both massaging the hurting ankle. You barely even registered the books that surrounded you, some of which were bound by chains. Back when you were studying in Kamar-Taj, you had always wondered about their contents, but now you could only focus on the pain.

“(y/n)?” You heard Stephen ask, lifting your head to see him appear from behind a bookshelf, brow raised. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Some drunkard ran into me, and I think I sprained my ankle.” You leaned back in your seat, sighing as you cursed yourself for never having shown much interest in healing magic.

Stephen put the book in his hands aside and approached you. “Let me see,” he said calmly as he crouched down in front of you and lifted your ankle with his hands. You hissed at the sudden contact, the pain intensifying for a second. You sometimes forgot that he had been a surgeon before a sorcerer, so you watched as his skillful hands felt for any severe injury, occasionally causing you to wince in pain.

“It’s sprained,” he agreed, not waiting for a response. His hands began to glow in a faint yellow light, the healing warmth instantly relieving your stressed joint. As Stephen slowly worked on your ankle, your eyes locked. His hand traced gentle circles on your skin, and you weren’t sure whether this was required for the spell, but you did not protest, even finding yourself closing your eyes in response to his touch.

“You have a knack for finding trouble. I don’t think that’s ever going to change, is it?” He asked, a smile playing on his lips as you opened your eyes to meet his.

“A sprained ankle is hardly trouble, compared to the other things you had to keep up with these past two years,” you said, chuckling softly. He did not reply.

The pain ceased, and Stephen let go of your ankle. He rested his arm on his knee as you studied the injury, realizing that he had healed it completely.

“Thanks,” you said a little shyly, which even surprised you.

Not wanting the situation to turn into an awkward silence, you stood from your seat, causing him to do the same.

You were about to turn and leave, lips parted to say goodbye, when you noticed him staring at something above you. You followed his eyes and blushed deeply as you saw mistletoe floating in the air between you, surrounded by a golden shimmer.

Swallowing, you looked back at him, blushing deeper as you asked, “Are you doing this?”

You felt stupid because of how hopeful your voice sounded; it was hard to deny you liked him, but he had always been rather cold towards you, which was why you were so glad that Wong had always been so nice to you. If he only knew the way you saw him, you were sure he’d never speak to you again.

Stephen looked from the mistletoe to you, shaking his head slowly. “No, I'm not.”

Realizing that this must be some joke one of the other sorcerers was playing on you, you quickly excused yourself and apologized, turning to leave when his hand on your wrist stopped you.

You turned to look at him, your eyes wide in surprise.

“I didn't say you have to leave,” he whispered, his eyes briefly dropping to your lips. It was hard to breathe when you watched him inch closer towards you, giving you enough time to back away if you wanted to.

He raised his hand to touch your cheek gently, brushing some strands of hair out of your face before burying his fingers in your waves. Something had changed in the way he looked at you, and now that you thought about it, it had changed a while ago already. Precisely around the time he had started acting colder towards you.

Stephen was so close now that you could see the small dark speckle in his blue eyes, something you had never really noticed before. You held your breath as you saw him pull away, conflict written all over his face.

It was your turn to hold onto his wrist, making him look at you. You didn’t know what encouraged you to press your lips against his, but as it happened, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to pull him close. You felt him tense against you; he had not anticipated your boldness, but soon he melted into the kiss, holding you by the small of your back.

As you pulled away, you smiled up at him, only to realize that the mistletoe had disappeared, but Stephen placed a hand on your cheek and directed your gaze back to him.

“Merry Christmas, (y/n),” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. You saw how your red lipstick had stained his own lips. With a small smile, Stephen leaned in again, capturing your lips in another lingering kiss. The soft glow of your magic enveloped you both, creating an aura of enchantment in the quiet corner of the mystical library. It was in involuntary response to his touch; emotions guiding sorcery. As he pulled away, he met your gaze, and there was a newfound warmth in his eyes, a spark of something unspoken yet profound.

I can see you in your suit and your necktie Passed me a note saying, "Meet me tonight" Then we kissed and you know I won't ever tell

#stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #marvel cinematic universe #marvel #marvel one shots #doctor strange fanfiction #stephen strange

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seriouslysnape · 2 years

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One Time Encounters

Remus Lupin x Fem! Student! Reader

Warnings: Sexual content. Smut. Mutual pining. Teacher/Student relationship. Age gap smut.

A/N: Reader is of age! Part 1 here

Word Count: 3.5k

“I...I don’t know what to do now.”

Remus’ heart was beating a million miles a minute. His body was pumped full of adrenaline as his feet guided him through the halls of the castle from memory. Never in his life had he been so anxious to get to his office. His office was the target destination, and Remus was reeling the entire way there.

This is happening. Fuck. This is happening.

Remus was taking every back corridor and detoured route that he could possibly take. He was diligently making sure to avoid the Portraits, Filch, and any students roaming around after dinner. That was something that he knew that he couldn’t explain. Rushing through the halls while holding the hand of a student with a very obvious hard-on was NOT something he could cover up. The chances of getting caught were hardly a concern for Remus right now. He had a window of opportunity in front of him that was wide open. He couldn’t not take this opportunity. He’d always wonder “what if” if he didn’t take it.

It had only been in Remus’ dreams that he had been able to live this moment. In his mind, that would only ever be a dream confined to the walls of his internal palace. He had always scolded and corrected himself every time that train of thinking snuck up on him. Just the night before he had reprimanded and beat himself to hell because he had an orgasm with floating, moving pictures of you in his imagination. His self-control and professionality had always won out over his lustful thinking. It was always the same reasoning for why he absolutely, positively could not do this.

She’s a student, Remus. Don’t fucking do this.

He hardly considered this to be impulsive. Remus would be lying if he hadn’t considered possible ways to make this work in the best way possible. Remus had calculated the risks. He had weighed the options and ran through all the pros and cons. Of course he wanted this. He wouldn’t have kept bringing it up to himself if he didn’t. The main issue boiled down to one thing: you.

Remus would never forgive himself if you got into trouble on his behalf. You had so much life ahead of you. Your life as a witch was merely just beginning. The world of magic was just being opened up to you, and you were just now having the chance to utilize your skills. Remus couldn’t live with himself if he knew that was taken away from you because the two of you were involved.

He wanted to protect you, and he was trying to be the voice of reason for both of you. Somehow, he just couldn’t let this go. The woman that he was hand-in-hand with wasn’t helping his case because you were just as antsy as he was.

“Professor, I’m not one to question the actions of my superiors,” You whispered harshly, barely able to keep up with his long strides as you rounded the corner to the hallway where his office was located. “But are you sure this is a good idea?”

Remus opened the door to his office with vigor, snatching you inside and practically slamming the door shut. He pressed you against the closed door, cornering you just as he had just a few moments ago.

“No.” He answered.

He kissed you then, desperately and with so much need that it nearly collapsed your knees. He felt a high then that was unlike anything that he’d ever experienced. His mouth on yours was beyond any of the ways he had imagined it. Just kissing you was making him grow harder by the second. His hand came to your face to draw you in closer as he used his frame to keep you pushed against the hard surface of his office door.

Remus had committed himself the moment that he confessed that he harbored feelings for you that were less than student/teacher friendly. That line had been crossed, and there was no turning back now. He knew that this was against every rule written in the book. There wasn’t a single excuse or reason in the world that he could come up with that would grant him a pass for this. He was screwed if anybody were to know about this.

This is fucked up, Remus. Obliviate her and forget it.

Remus gave that intrusive thought absolutely no consideration. Forget it? He nearly laughed out loud at that suggestion. He wasn’t going to abandon this moment and send you on your way magically brainwashed. Fuck the rules. This was something that he felt was worth the risk of breaking the rules and getting caught.

It’s wrong, Remus. You’re better than this.

Remus’ internal debate was cast aside momentarily when he was forced to step backwards due to you pushing yourself off of the door that he had you pinned against. The kiss hardly broke, and Remus would’ve never wished for a moment where it had. He stumbled back further into his office that barely had any real illumination to it. The lamp that Remus had lit earlier in the day was still burning strong, but it only offered enough light for Remus to see what was directly in front of him.

And oh did he love what he saw.

The back of Remus’ legs hit the edge of his desk, bringing both of you to a halt.

The desk. How perfect. How convenient.

Remus’ own subconscious had turned to sarcasm because there was no way of convincing him to back out now. If he was going to enjoy the journey, then so was his sense of morale.

“I never- I...I have to admit that I never really imagined this coming to life.” Remus babbled when the two of you stopped for air, but took the chance to begin getting the other undressed and out of your clothes.

Nerves had plagued you. Your fingertips trembled ever so when you worked to unbutton the buttons on his dress shirt. The reality of what was happening, and what was about to happen had come to your realization. Remus didn’t even understand what kind of dirty things that you had imagined about him. If he knew even half of the scenarios that you had played out in your mind to get an ear ringing orgasm, it would bring a blush to his face.

The difference was that you hadn’t felt an ounce of guilt for it. Remus was a respectable, kind, and intelligent professor. He was a good person outside of a good professor. Why should you feel guilty for being attracted to someone like him? You supposed the answer was a weak one but still the truth -- and also one that you shared with Remus for his own dilemma.

You never thought that this would actually happen.

“Me either,” Your voice nearly cracked. “It doesn’t feel real.”

His eyes visibly darkened when your uniform blouse fell to the floor with a whisper of a thud. He almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. When he had imagined it so many times, and now it was actually happening in real time -- his brain found difficulty in making logical sense out of it.

His hands were planted on your sides the moment that your bra hit the floor, pulling your breasts closer to him so he could put his mouth to work. His tongue swirled your nipple, sucking and kissing them shamelessly.

A strain of a moan shivered from your chest. Your mind was already on its way to being a foggy puddle, and it wouldn’t be long before you were completely clouded over.

Remus’ slacks were discarded and tossed somewhere in the room without much care or regard. The head of his cock teased and pressed at the space between your thighs underneath the skirt that Remus didn’t bother to remove.

In circumstances that were less rushed, Remus wouldn’t be this fast paced and desperate to get things moving. He liked to take his time and savor the moment, but this didn’t quite call for that.

There was a new rush of adrenaline, and at this point he was running off of pure hormonal energy. He swallowed hard at the feeling of his tip being just mere centimeters from where it wanted to be. He was so close. So unbelievably close. He literally just had to part your legs and pull you over his waist and fuck you the way that he had longed to. But there was a moment of bold clarity that stopped him in his tracks.

There was a slight shaking in your legs, and it wasn’t from the overeagerness of the activity that you were mere seconds from partaking in. The hint of anxiety written over your features was enough to make Remus stop cold. He hadn’t stopped to think about how this situation was just as high-stakes for you as it was for him. He wasn’t the only party here, and he wasn’t the only one who was going to be affected. He needed to be absolutely sure that you were just as willing to take this risk as he was.

“[Y/N],” Remus stopped completely, looking at you sternly. “If you don’t want this, tell me now. If you’re unsure of this or have any doubt, then we won’t do this. I have to hear you say yes.”

There was hardly a passing moment. It was the most confident, surefire acceptance he had ever heard in his life.

“Yes. I want this.” You nodded, your words clear as day.

That was all he needed to hear for the last crumb of doubt to dissolve away.

“Come here.” He rumbled, spinning around to where you were sitting on the corner of his desk.

His hands gripped the sides of your thighs, dragging you as far to the edge of the wooden structure as you could physically go to wrap your legs around his waist. His cock was twitching with anticipation, basically begging Remus to just do it.

“Next time I promise I’ll take my time.” Remus chuckled, a genuine smile appearing on his face as he looked down at your sprawled out frame over his desk.

“Will there be a next time?” You swallowed, a glimmer of desire sparkling over your pupils as Remus looked into them.

Fuck. What are you even saying? Remus scolded himself. Next time? Absolutely not, Remus. Just this once.

Remus said it to himself, but he didn’t believe it. If this happened now, then he was nearly positive that it would happen again.

“I hope so.” He shuddered, his voice husky and smooth.

There was a slight pause, a twin breath was taken -- and you entered the point of no return.

He lined himself up and slid in with the slowest speed that he could maintain. He shuddered out an exhale as he did so, keeping his head as level as he could.

There was a shared groan at the feeling. Remus’ mouth fell open as he rolled his hips forward to completely bottom out. It was taking every ounce of what was left of his self-control to start slow and tedious. This wasn’t a throwaway moment. He wasn’t using this time or using you just for sex. This was meant to be just as special for you as it was for him.

He felt the way that you stretched around him as he filled you. His hands tightened around your thighs as he stood motionless for a moment, allowing both you and him to soak up this feeling.

It felt so right. It was like you were a perfect fit for him. He had never experienced something that felt so flawless and so seamless. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that he had imagined it so many times or if it was just that good -- but whatever it was, it was intoxicating. His head was buried in the crook of your shoulder with his chest pressed against yours.

“Doing alright?” Remus asked, his voice muffled against the skin of your shoulder that he had left a kiss on.

“Yeah,” You whispered. “I...I need you to-”

“I know, I know. Me too.” Remus took another deep breath as he stood tall once more, and pulled his hips back to withdraw his cock.

There wasn’t a pause before he pushed back in, allowing no time for second thoughts. He felt like he was spinning, and if it weren’t for his grip on your hips, he was certain he would’ve fallen over. Remus didn’t hesitate any longer or waste any more time.

He found a rhythm, one that worked best for the both of you based on your most genuine noises of pleasure. It was a steady tempo, one that wasn’t too fast or too slow. He was consistent with his thrusts, and he didn’t leave any part inside of you untouched.

The desk wobbled with his movements, and your grip on the edge of the desktop was the only thing keeping you from shifting out of place. It didn’t take long for stars to begin dotting in your vision. You had never had someone this experienced take this kind of position over you. It was new, and it was different.

For now, any reservation that Remus had was gone. This was the rightest thing in the world to him right now. It was exceeding all of his dreams and expectations. How could he feel guilty about that?

Remus knew he’d be thinking about this for days. He knew that he’d be fantasizing about the next time and whatever he could dream up of doing to you. This was the beginning of something either really good or really bad...Remus wasn’t sure yet.

You rotated your hips to meet his thrusts, allowing him to hit the perfect spot. You could tell with each push back in that he had been waiting for this moment. You could feel the pent up tension in every rough entrance.

“You’re taking me well. Atta girl,” Remus rumbled a chuckle, a little surprised. “How you doing?” Remus asked again, ensuring your comfort and complete pleasure.

“So good. Please don’t stop.” You pleaded.

Every nerve in Remus’ body was on fire. He was exploding with pleasure and satisfaction. The way that your mouth was parted in response to his thrusts and your eyes meeting his every so often was an image that he had to see again. The feeling of dragging in and out of you was addictive, and for a moment, he knew he wouldn’t be able to allow this to be a one-time occasion.

The noises were quiet. Remus’ awareness of getting caught hadn’t gone anywhere. Even with a locked door and dark room, he had a sliver of fear that someone would walk in. He’d never be able to talk himself out of that one.

He needed to wrap this up. He feared that your friends would come looking for you or another professor would seek Remus for a work favor. In all honesty, it had been so long that Remus couldn’t last that long anyways. He couldn’t keep you here much longer, against his better wishes.

If he could’ve had it his way, he would’ve kept you there all night.

His thrusts into you never stopped, and he could feel his tip prodding against the furthest part into you that he could possibly go.

“I’m so...I’m going to...” You blubbered out.

Remus nodded with understanding, his head so full of fog that he couldn’t even form words. His grip on your thighs tightened, and he put all of his energy on making you finish.

With that, you involuntarily clenched around him and a pitchy cry sounded out as you crashed over your release. He was close behind, feeling himself spiral. With just three more thrusts, he pulled out and spilled his own release. He let out his own groan of relief as you opened your eyes, beginning to float down from your climax. Both of you were breathing heavily, minds racing, and hearts pounding.

There was a brief moment of bliss as the two of you fell from your highs. You know good and well that you had never had it that good before, and it was taking you a little longer to recover. His chest heaved as he breathed, both with adrenaline and with realization of what had just happened.

He hovered over you again after a moment, watching you intently. He was careful when lifting your limp body to meet his. He recognized that starstruck, blown away look in your eyes. He didn’t know what to say. It felt unbelievably inappropriate to tell you how good you were, but he didn’t really understand why.

Remus felt fulfilled, but also very, VERY nervous.

This had to stay a secret. This was the most top secret, confidential, never-to-be-spoken-about incident to ever exist. Remus was a goner if anybody ever knew about this. He’d be shunned and disrespected, and rightfully so. This was over the line. Way over the line.

He knew that he should’ve felt bad for having sex and sharing an intimate moment with a student that he was almost double the age of. He should’ve been ashamed of himself for breaking every rule and going against everything he ever stood for. He knew that he should’ve felt the absolute worst that he had ever felt.

But he didn’t. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse for what had just happened. As a matter of fact, he knew that this was almost a sorry attempt at what he could really do.

This was a teaser. This was merely a taste of what it could really be like. This only made Remus want it a million times more.That scared him to death, and it made him do something that he rarely ever did.

Remus began to panic.

He reached for his pants (only letting go of you when he was sure you could hold yourself up) that were around his ankles, snatching them up and fastening them. He grabbed your discarded blouse as well, and he began to help you get dressed. You were looking at him anxiously, because he was making you nervous. He felt you staring at him, but he kept his eyes focused on his hands trying to get you dressed.

“Professor, I-”

“Shh. Stop,” He waved a shaky, dismissive hand. “Don’t say anything.”

His fingers trembled as he worked on getting the buttons of your shirt buttoned. Somehow, it felt worse putting the shirt back on you than it did taking it off.

“Professor,” You ignored him. “I...I don’t know what to do now.”

“I don’t either.” Remus adjusted the collar of your shirt back to how it was before.

You took it upon yourself to adjust anything else that was out of place while Remus put his own shirt back on. There was an extended silence while the two of you worked separately to compose yourselves, but it was an awkward kind of quiet that you couldn’t stand to sit in.

“Listen. I can’t just show up to class tomorrow and pretend everything is normal,” You grew stern with him. “We’ve got to figure something out.”

“I know, I know. You’re right,” Remus’ hands swept his hair back stressfully. “I just didn’t think this far ahead.”

You landed on your feet from sitting on the desk, and you stood just a few feet away from him with an apprehensive look. This was part of the whole “do now, think later” mantra. The problem was that the “later” had arrived.

“The professor-student relationship is still between us. We can certainly remain professional.” Remus said, taking a breath to settle himself.

“Yeah, but is it going to be uncomfortable?” You bantered back.

Remus thought about that. He wasn’t sure how he was going to feel come Monday morning when you were sitting in your usual seat. Remus didn’t have an answer, which prompted you to go on.

“We’re mature. We can handle this the right way.” You reasoned.

“Absolutely,” Remus agreed. “I just...need time to figure out what the right way is.”

He felt stupid for being this unprepared. He should’ve been ready for this conversation. Now he felt like the world’s biggest douchebag -- rushing you out and not having an answer to any of your questions.

“I...guess I need to go then.” You swallowed, taking heavy steps towards the door of his office.

Remus felt like he needed to say something. Whether it was something to ease your mind or something to make you feel better about this. But no words came out. He only watched you make it across the room to leave him in the silence and darkness of his lonely office.

“If this needs to be a one-time thing, I...I understand, Professor.” You stopped when you made it to the door, but he caught the slightest bit of disappointment in your tone

Remus weighed his options. Morally, that was likely the best solution. A one-and-done event. No strings attached. The two of you would go on your merry and separate ways, and neither of you would have that craving and nagging “what if”. That seemed like the most logical route, and the best one to take.

But deep down, it wasn’t the one that either of you wanted.

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deconstructthesoup · 21 days

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Finally talking about the Enchanted AU now...

First off---the way the fairytale world works in this universe is inspired by Dimension 20's Neverafter, in that it's shaped by the authors who tell the stories. Currently, it's all happy and bright and Disney-esque, but there were times when it was much more reminiscent of the Brothers Grimm, with doom and gloom and no happy endings. The Narrator, as the evil king, has reached awareness in this sense, and he intends to reshape the world into the land of horror it once was.

Of course, the Narrator (aka the Crow King) has to deal with his two twin nephews, Simon (Smitten) and Skip (Skeptic). Simon, as the firstborn, is the heir to the throne and is set to become king once he gets married, and Skip found out about the Crow King's nefarious plans before he was even an adult. But the Crow King is clever, and has found a way to manage both of those problems---with Simon, he continues to send him out on dangerous quests to keep him distracted and prevent him from meeting anyone, and with Skip, he put a hex on him that forces him to cooperate.

Meanwhile, in the Enchanted Forest, a beautiful and sweet young woman named Danielle (Damsel) lives alongside her many animal friends, sewing clothes and dreaming of one day meeting a prince... but not just so she can finally have her love story. About a year ago, her twin sister Priscilla (Prisoner) mysteriously disappeared, and since maidens don't go on quests in this world, Danielle hopes that her prince will find her sister for her. So when she meets Simon after he saves her from a troll and the two fall in love immediately, she feels like her dreams have come true.

Naturally, this is bad for the Crow King, because not only does this mean that Simon will inherit the throne once he and Danielle get married, he's the one who took her sister. Priscilla happens to be an incredibly talented alchemist who'd also discovered the truth about the world, and she's secretly being kept prisoner so the Crow King can learn from her knowledge---though, she sabotages him while she can. She and Skip are also well aware of each other, though their relationship is... well, fraught, seeing as Skip is working for the man who's imprisoned her, hexed or no.

On the day of their wedding, the Crow King, in the guise of a beggar, sends Danielle to, in his words, a place where there are no happily ever afters---the place where the fairytale world draws its power from. One of Danielle's bird friends, a parrot named Conrad (Contrarian), alerts Simon, and the two dive in after her. And the Crow King sends Skip and his misbehaving crow familiar Harry (Hero) to the real world... along with a hexed Priscilla, as he's close enough to succeeding that he has no need of her anymore.

Meanwhile, in modern-day New York City, a thrift shop owner named Willow (Witch), has lost a lot of her old zeal for life after coming out as a lesbian, getting divorced, and having to take care of her six-year-old Bea (Beast) on her own. She's currently in her first ever queer relationship with a tarot enthusiast and museum worker named Sienna (Spectre), but she's got a lot on her plate, and she's too wrapped up in everything she has to deal with to really pay that much attention to Sienna... or realize that the two of them aren't really that good of a fit. So, when she and Bea run into a very lost and very distressed Danielle on their way home from Bea's karate lessons, Willow's first instinct is to leave her alone---except, Bea likes her, and for some reason, Willow starts feeling a little bit of sympathy for Danielle very fast.

I'm not gonna go into the rest of the story here, but I will say who everyone else is:

Willow's employees are as follows---Zora (Razor), an overly chaotic metalhead and the lead singer in an amateur band; Addison (Adversary), Zora's girlfriend, her bassist, and a professionally trained boxer; Scully (Stubborn), Addison's best friend-slash-fellow boxer and the drummer in the band; Oliver (Opportunist), Scully's boyfriend, the electric guitarist, and Willow's annoying cousin; Natalie (Nightmare), a mischievous goth girl and a premed student in college; and Percy (Paranoid), Natalie's long-suffering classmate and a "skittish little nerd" in everybody's words but his. Literally all of them constantly badger Willow with their version of advice, and literally all of them think that they know better.

Sienna shares her apartment with her brother Colin (Cold) and their friends Stace (Stranger) and Ben (Broken). They end up taking Simon, Skip, and Priscilla in, and they all constantly have to deal with frequent visits from Ben's ex-girlfriend Tiana (Tower), who's a big-time lawyer and thinks she's the queen of New York. Right below their apartment is a bookstore owned by an older couple named Hunter (Hunted) and Chester (Cheated), both of whom are a little bit grumpy and a little bit wary of new people, but are very nice when you get to know them.

I, of course, have a lot of other thoughts, but... that's it for now.

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floralflorence · 11 months

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Masterlist:

All fics are my own work unless stated otherwise but, of course, the majority of the characters are our very own Saviour's ocs - LUMOSINLOVE.

I have a long 200k+ smut fic with the Cubs and Reg's relationship on my AO3 (same user) so if you like the snippets of my writing, there's more there.

Thank for you reading <3

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

1) POV: Reg gives Leo a lapdance

2) POV: Lo and Reg don't realise Leo and Finn are on facetime to O'Darwin and they see more than they bargained for

3) POV: Reg teases Finn about his kissing; Finn takes that as a challenge

4) POV: "Baby, can I have my hoodie back?" "Can I have my virginity back?" "Technically, that was Peanut."

5) POV: the Cubs and Reg are stuck in what's known as 'the talking stage' - that promptly comes to an end when their eyes get drawn to a black piercing on Reg's tongue

6) POV: The Cubs are going to be Reg's first... well, everything and Leo does his best to calm his worries.

PT. 1

PT. 2

7) POV: After only recently putting a label on it, what do the Cubs do when Reg shows up at their door in the middle of the night soaking wet?

8) POV: A moment of tenderness between Leo and Reg makes ignoring their feelings much more complicated for the four of them (CW: panic attack)

9) POV: Leo and Reg sneak off during a party. (Purely self-indulgent smut - sorry not sorry.)

10) POV: A moment of tenderness between Leo and Reg makes ignoring their feelings much more complicated for the four of them. PT.2

11) POV: [Lumosinlove AU] Reg trains as a PT after leaving the snakes, later becoming the Lions' new PT. How professional can he be when his job forces him to be up close and personal with a certain group of Cubs?

12) POV: Finn gets a surprise while out with family

13) PT. 2 of POV: Finn gets a surprise while out with family

#lumosinlove #o'knutzy #o'knutzy x reg #lumosinlove ocs #smut #leo knut #logan tremblay #finn ohara #o'darwin #regulus black #remus x sirius #fluff

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asterjennifer · 2 years

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Mystictober 2022 | Day 23 - Cosplay

Summary: Given your boyfriend is an actor; you can't help but get curious about all the outfits sitting in his wardrobe.

─────◇◇◇★◇◇◇─────

When Zen agreed for you to use his costumes one time, you didn't expect to fall into the trap of amusement so deeply.

He let you try on anything that was available and within reach of your greedy fingertips. Luckily your boyfriend didn't seem bothered much; on the contrary, he looked happy whenever you came back out to pose in a brand new outfit you mixed together. Almost like a fashion show.

You found joy in taking on different roles, having you wondering if that's the reason why he loved acing on stage in the first place. Was it the chance to become someone completely different? Someone you usually would never act like? It's fun and finally you understood why that is.

He clapped, laughing softly as you jumped back out for the countless time that evening. You're unsure where the idea even came from; probably Seven's fault for making you curious with his experiences inside the cosplay topic. Not that you're able to complain, he did what made him happy and that's all that counted.

Zen hid the grin behind the back of his hand as the wig were close to slip off your head. You're no professional, of course they could look a thousand times better if someone with trained hands would lend them to you. Although you asked your boyfriend, he declined immediately.

Saying it's funnier seeing you try on your own; how it would be for you alone instead of relying on his skills specifically. At first you felt uncertain about your abilities, you never were big on fashion or clothing yourself the perfect way. However, this was nothing like before and it took some work getting it done correctly.

Regardless, you couldn't stop yourself from laughing along your boyfriend. He liked this as much as you did; having you both ending up do this all evening. Zen even took pictures when he loved a particular costume; sending it into the RFA chatroom with your premission for feedback.

The others also seemed to like your passion, Seven mentioned briefly you reminded him of himself just as he started picking up the world of cosplay. Zen waved his hand once you offered for him to join, he wanted to sit at the couch instead and play your loyal audience.

The two of you slowly formed a concept out of it. What wig would fit best to the dress, if you should add some makeup for the effects, when to wear high shoes and when to use simple sneakers. To be honest with yourself; it's a bit surprising he got into it so deeply.

Zen's an actor; dressing up was a part of his job, while the pain one's playing a role and story with his outstanding skills. Yet he appeared interested whenever you turned into a circle and wondered out loud if this would be something he'd wear under job related circumstances.

Most of the stuff hanging in his closet were borrowed; so you took special care of the fabric that's on your body. Zen rolled his eyes as you come out with a mask covering your face, playing around like you're a witch when holding up a fake mggic wand while blabbing nonsense.

Time on the clock moved on and before you're realizing it; it's midnight. He's the first to point it out and watch your jaw drop, it made his already used up laughter echo throughout the room once again. He then reached his hand out to you, taking it softly into his own to leave a kiss on top of it.

Him promising you're going to continue tomorrow had your eyes sparkle; his blush in response left no room for change of mind. You thought it's a real advantage to have an actor as boyfriend in order to try out brand new things.

#mm_mystictober2022 #mm mystictober2022 #mm #mystic messenger #zen #mystic messenger zen #zen route #zen x mc #zen x reader #fluff #au #ff #soft

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buckybarnesdiaries · 3 years

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secrets

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

request made by @homesicam: hi maria!! can I have prompt 15, feels mysterious and all and god bless bucky's soul (ofc) !! and thank you so much for your work !! ❤️

prompt: “Will be our secret”.

word count: 1.165 words.

warnings/tags: none. bucky feeling like a lost puppy trying to fit in.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

Like every time you came back from a mission, where you needed a little calm, you waited for the small hours to hit the clock. Walking out from your dorm, you led your feet through the hallways to downstairs. Crossing the huge large living room, you stepped to the back garden of the compound. As soon as you took off your house slippers, you continued along the grass, feeling the strands of grass beneath your toes tickling you. The sky was covered by shining stars all around and for a split second your mind went blank. There wasn’t any horror, any danger, any pain. The wounds and the scratches in your face and arms went to the background, as you closed your eyes to breathe the soft breeze fluttering your hair. You felt free.

Taking a seat on the grass, you put your knees against your chest and wrapped them with both arms. Sometimes you used to think about what made you so special to be part of the Avengers. You weren’t like Natasha, a professional spy. You weren’t like Tony, a genius. And of course, you weren’t a god, nor a witch, nor a supersoldier. Not even just a soldier like Sam. Of course, they were more than those skills. You were just an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. that survived its destruction and falling. It was inevitable to feel small when you joined them in their missions. Even so, it was better if any of them heard you talk about yourself like that, or they’d end up kicking your ass to be too humble and unfair with yourself and how much you train and work hard every single day. With no excuses.

“A broken heart is all that’s left, I’m still fixing all the cracks. Lost a couple of pieces when I carried it, carried it, carried it home…” Like a defense mechanism against your own hurtful thoughts, you started to sing with your eyes put on a starry night above your head.

A few days ago, you discovered that song and got really obsessed for some reason you didn’t know. It was like picking at the scab, thinking about your parents, about how much you missed them, about what they could be thinking about you. Would they feel proud? Would they feel scared?

“I’m afraid of all I am. My mind feels like a foreign land, silence ringing inside my head. Please, carry me… carry me… carry me home”.

“You sound like my mother”.

Those words raced your heart, more because of the surprise of someone else being there than for the confession. You couldn’t help but jump up from the floor, shaking the strands of grass from your clothes. Bucky was in front of you, a couple of steps away. He had his head slightly tilted to the right, squinting with some kind of confusion running through his mind. You crossed your arms on your chest a little ashamed, rubbing your nose with a side of your hand as you tried to hold back a tear.

Then, you dawn on and your brain reproduced his words again. For you, it meant a shock. You could count with the fingers of both hands the times you had shared a couple of words, maybe a small talk in a meeting before a mission. And you were sure it was the first time you two were alone. Bucky was pretty quiet, even shy you’d dare to say. After all the shit he lived in for many years, the fear of coming back to those dark days was still chasing him. Steve told you that he used to try and speak to anyone, to be normal, to be trusted. But after what he was forced to do, no one really trusted in him. And it wasn’t like you didn’t care about his past, because you’d be lying to yourself, but you were of those kinds of persons who thought that everybody deserves a second chance. If you didn’t give them anything to believe in, how would they be believers?

“Did she…?” You intoned slowly driven by curiosity, now that Bucky seemed interested in starting a conversation either way. But you didn’t want to sound disrespectful.

“She used to sing for my sister and me”. You watched him keep his hands inside the pockets of his sweatpants, coming closer to you as he noticed you weren’t afraid of him.

“My mom did it too”. You replied then, showing him a fleeting smile curving up your lips.

As soon as Bucky witnessed the sweet gesture from you and the way you were continuing the conversation, he felt relaxed. He felt welcomed from the first time he stepped into the compound. You waved a hand towards him, urging him to sit down as you went back to your seat on the grass. He joined you without hesitation, cheered up inside for making a new friend.

You lost track of time talking about everything and anything at the same time. Talking about your families, discovering he had a sister called Rebecca. Talking to you about the old good times where Steve and he were just a couple of punk wreak havoc all around Brooklyn. You couldn’t stop laughing, showing him how excited you were to know more about him and his adventures. You told him about the farm where you used to live and how you built something like a training camp to prepare yourself to join S.H.I.E.L.D. Bucky was fascinated by your determination and perseverance, comparing you to Steve when he wanted to join the army, before being Captain America.

Inevitably, you yawned when the sunset was about to happen, earning a soft nudge from the soldier. “C’mon, you should rest”.

“Yeah, I’m pretty dead… drawbacks of being only human”.

He stood up before you, helping you to get up from the ground. You walked indoors keeping silent, not knowing actually how to say goodbye. It was an awkward situation that barely lasted two seconds.

“Listen, about before… I’d appreciate it if you don’t say anyt—”.

“Sure”. Bucky interrupted you. The gesture of his face suddenly changed to a sad grimace with a feigned smile on his lips. “You don’t have to worry about”.

“Good! Uh… thank you. I bet Stark will bully me about the singing thing all the time. He can be a pain in the ass sometimes”. You couldn’t help but sigh with relief when his blue eyes, placed on his boots, were raised with a special shine on them. There, you understood what he thought about your uncompleted petition. “And about… you know, talking, I wouldn’t mind repeating it anytime else”.

“Only if you sing for me”. Bucky’s voice was like a soft breeze caressing your face, filled with hope and enthusiasm. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes towards him. “Will be our secret”.

“Okay, deal”. You chuckled nodding. “Good night, Bucky”.

“Good night, (Y/N)”.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

and REBLOG!!! 🤍

TAG LIST: @mystic-232 @homesicam @theresnoplatypus @i-love-scott-mccall @slutfornat @goldielocks2004 @whatrambles @the-mystery-spot @multiyfandomgirl40 @spidergirla5 @wanniiieeee @fanofalltheficsx @spideysimpossiblegirl @nocturnalherb16 @valenquei @golden-hoax @hunter-of-baker-street @missusstark @vhscherry @warm-sensations @addictedtofictionalcharacters @sarahsmcu @tinylumpiaa @amelia-song-pond @heartislubbingdubbing @stolenxkissess @clean-and-claire @winchestersgirl222 @virgoroses @marvel-ousnesss @me-a-hopeless-romantic @rvgrsbrns @maccasbeard @haileygarciasunshine @lewd-alien @kait-is-always-late @mckenna @weenersoldierr @mxltifaves @soldierstucky @blissxi @theboldandthebootyful @arkofblake @isabellamur @kiwisa

@mayans-sauce @petlaufeyson @sheeshgivemeabreak @megapeacelovemusic-blog @greeneyedblondie44

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x you #the winter soldier x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you

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helnjk · 3 years

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Snowed In - C.W.

Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Requested: yes! by my love @lupinsclassroom

Ah HA I finally came up with a Charlie request. Okay, of course it’s professor reader because I’m obsessed with them but like....Charlie visits hogwarts, and then (I know logistically this isn’t possible bc ✨magic✨) but he gets snowed in and has to stay in the castle for the weekend and it’s just cozy and soft 🥺

Word count: 2.6k

Summary: sometimes, it takes just the right circumstances to get what you want.

Warnings: meal mention, reference to/implied sex (blink and you’ll miss it), winter fluff!

A/N: this took me so long to get done aaaaaaaa 😩 but yay ! more COMC professor & charlie 🥰

–

Christmas at Hogwarts was always a spectacular sight. The professors always loved to go above and beyond with the decorations, but even without them, the grounds and the castle looked, well, magical.

“Professor L/N?” a voice from across the room mumbled.

Y/N looked up from the stack of papers she was grading to see Eloise Abbott, wrapped in her cloak and her Hufflepuff scarf, standing at the entrance to her office. A neatly wrapped present was clutched in her gloved hands as she waited for her professor to invite her inside.

Athena was perched on her stand behind Y/N, resting after a long afternoon of delivering various Christmas gifts. Her sleeping figure seemed to appease the student’s apprehension slightly as she called out, “Come on in, Eloise!”

“Isn’t the train supposed to be leaving soon? What’re you still doing in the castle?” Y/N questioned, stashing away the stack of parchments on her desk, that way her attention would be fully on the Hufflepuff.

“Yep!” Eloise replied quickly, “I just wanted to drop off a present for you before I go! I know that you’re staying here for the holidays, right?”

“You’re right.” Y/N smiled. “Thank you for thinking of me, Eloise, that was very sweet of you.”

A swift nod was her reply, and as quick as she had come, Ms. Abbott turned on her heel and darted out of the room. Thankfully, she remembered to yell a hasty, “Happy Christmas!” over her shoulder before she was fully out of hearing range.

Y/N shook her head with a soft smile on her lips. Even after being her professor for nearly six years now, Eloise was still a shy little thing when it came to communicating with professors or any sort of authority figure. Still, the gesture warmed her heart greatly.

The thought of gifts and spending Christmas alone, well, not exactly alone, but not with the Weasleys this year put a slight damper on her mood, though. Minerva had asked her if she could spend the holidays at Hogwarts this year since they were running short of staff who could chaperone the students. Of course, Y/N could never say no to her favorite teacher turned cool boss. It was the least she could do.

With a sigh, she stroked Athena’s soft feathers and came to the conclusion that she was too distracted to continue her grading.

Despite her attempt for some alone time, Minerva managed to stop her in the hallway.

“Ah Y/N, just the person I wanted to see,” the older professor smiled.

“Anything I can do for you, Min?” Y/N replied.

She nodded, “I need your help with a particularly odd creature in my office. It doesn’t seem to want to leave.”

The two professors briskly walked towards the Headmistress’ office side by side, their winter robes swishing around their legs. Professor L/N’s brows furrowed at the lack of concern Minerva had shown at the fact that there was a creature in her office. Of course, the older witch was highly skilled and educated, so maybe it wasn’t that big of a problem. What did she need Y/N’s help for then?

“Er, Minerva,” Y/N began as they turned a corner, “What creature exactly is in your office? Do you think we need backup?”

“I didn’t exactly get a good look at it, I just saw that it had orange-colored fur.”

“Minerva.”

The sly grin that she was met with did nothing to help the situation. Y/N simply rolled her eyes and went along with the all too obvious scheme the Headmistress had hatched up this time.

The pair said nothing else as they continued their journey to the Minerva’s office, save for the password–’panthera leo’–once they reached the gargoyle statue. Y/N’s curiosity got the better of her as they ascended the spiral staircase, especially since the older witch hadn’t stopped grinning.

“So, you’re not going to tell me what’s going on despite the fact that you’re grinning at me like a cheshire cat?” Y/N probed, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll see, dear.”

The younger professor had to push down the urge to roll her eyes. Thankfully, they had reached the top of the staircase, and the words she was about to say got stuck in her throat as she saw what, or rather who, was in the office.

“Charlie?” she gasped, after pushing the door open.

Leaning against the large oak desk with his legs crossed in front of him was Charlie Weasley with a shit-eating grin. Y/N paused at the entrance to the Headmistress’ office, her eyes darting between the redhead and her boss.

“He’s the orange-furred creature that you can’t seem to get out of your office?”

Even as she spoke the words, her head couldn’t wrap around the absurdity of the situation. Charlie let out a loud laugh at her question, his eyes moving his former professor and head of house, who had just slipped past Y/N and into her office.

“I asked Minnie here to help me out some with surprising you,” he grinned cheekily.

He pushed off the desk and took a few short strides. Faster than she could comprehend, he was standing in front of her, soft eyes staring down at hers and rough hands grasping at her arms.

“Hi,” he spoke softly.

In an instant, she practically melted in his arms, “Hi Charlie.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought them out of their little bubble and their heads turned in Minerva’s direction.

“Alright Mr. Weasley, I helped you surprise Y/N,” she smiled knowingly, “Now off with you two! I’ve got a school to run.”

With a shout of thanks, Charlie took Y/N’s hand and practically dragged her out of the office. Biting her lip to contain her grin, she felt like she was a student again, laughing through the deserted hallways as she and her boyfriend ran towards her quarters.

There was a lot of tripping over their own feet and a lot of giggling, but she hadn’t felt this elated in a long time. Whenever Charlie would turn to look back at her, the edges of her lips would turn upwards automatically, as if he was the source of her happiness and her laughter.

Which, in a lot of ways, he was.

Y/N had never been so glad to see the castle empty. It meant that she could let her professional professor facade down and let loose without having to think too hard about the repercussions.

“So,” she started as they reached the hallway containing her room, “Care to tell me when you planned all of this?”

The sparkle of mischief and delight in Charlie’s eyes nearly made her swoon, “I can’t stay long, unfortunately. Mum’s expecting me at the Burrow tonight, but I got an early portkey so that I could see you before Christmas.”

Pushing up on her tiptoes, Y/N kissed him softly, “You’re wonderful, do you know that?”

“Careful there, love, we don’t want to boost my ego too much.”

–

“You all set?” Y/N asked, smoothing out the creases in Charlie’s scarf and trying to busy herself in an attempt to distract her mind from the thought of not spending Christmas in his arms.

With a deep sigh, he answered, “Yep, just about.”

Majority of their afternoon together was spent in bed, much to their joint amusement. In Charlie’s defense, he had come to do whatever it was that Y/N wanted, and well, that was what she ended up choosing. In hindsight, it was probably their best option anyway, since the weather outside the castle had slowly begun to worsen.

By the time they had stumbled out of the warmth of Y/N’s bed and had gotten dressed once again, it was practically dark outside due to the snowstorm that rolled in.

“It’s looking pretty rough out there,” she noted, as the pair of them walked hand in hand down the deserted hallways.

Now and then, a student staying at Hogwarts for the holidays would pass by them and try their hardest not to stare at their hot Care of Magical Creatures professor and her equally hot dragon tamer boyfriend.

Each time a student rushed past, Charlie would wait until they were out of sight before making eye contact with Y/N and smiling so big it shouldn’t have been humanly possible.

“You’re insufferable,” she grumbled after the third student they encountered disappeared around the corner.

“You love me,” he shrugged.

The bickering pair paused mid step when they heard a new set of footsteps approaching them. For the second time that day, Y/N watched as Minerva approached.

“I’m afraid your journey to the Burrow has to be put on hold, Mr. Weasley,” she spoke as she reached the pair.

“What?” Y/N and Charlie said together.

“The storm outside is much too harsh for anyone to walk past the apparition wards, even with impervious charms,” she explained.

“What about your floo, can’t he use that to get to the Burrow?”

As Y/N spoke, she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty at the pang of excitement she felt at the thought of being able to spend more time with Charlie.

“Ministry’s just gotten back with word that the Floo Network is under maintenance until further notice.”

Charlie’s eyes flickered from Minerva’s solemn eyes to Y/N’s slightly confused ones, before he nodded, “Alright. Seems like I’m spending the night at Hogwarts then.”

–

Dinner that night was amusing to say the least. As most students were at home with their families, those who stayed behind all fit in the long table that was usually the Head Table. Minerva, Charlie, and Y/N tried their hardest to contain their smiles at the incredulous looks that some of the students had.

For some, it was their first time being in such close and intimate proximity to their professors. Others were wary of the attendance of the non-Hogwarts staff member, partly because he was a dragon tamer and mostly because he was Professor L/N’s boyfriend.

Y/N’s heart had melted, however, at the sight of Charlie having a chat with the younger students. She had a flashback of summers at the Burrow when his younger siblings still weren’t old enough to attend Hogwarts, and how they looked at him with wide eyes and thought everything he said was gospel.

“And then he opened his mouth so big I thought I was done for,” he spoke with such a tone that even Y/N was drawn in, “But turns out the old bugger was just going in for a yawn.”

The end of his story elicited a giggle from the youngest student at the table and Y/N was sure that her heart was positively a pile of goo.

As discreetly as she possibly could, she placed her hand on top of Charlie’s thigh and grinned cheerfully as he took the signal and placed his larger one on hers.

“Is it bad if I said that I’m glad you’re going to be here tonight?” she whispered when most of the attention wasn’t on them anymore.

“Absolutely not.” Charlie grinned and squeezed her hand. “Don’t you think the Floo being down sounds a little odd, though?”

The pair glanced at each other and then their eyes drifted towards the Headmistress. As if she could read their minds–which was entirely possible–Minerva caught their eyes and smirked from behind her goblet as she took a sip from it.

“Honestly, who knows what Minerva can come up with,” Y/N murmured, “She could tell us that there was a rogue Ministry gryffin creating potions in the dungeons and we would believe her.”

The nonchalance of her statement choked out a loud laugh from Charlie. The stilted noise coming from him as he tried to contain his amusement ended up making her giggle as well. As the group finished up with their meal, the pair of them would catch each other’s eyes once in a while and another round of trying to repress their laughs would begin.

They waited as everyone shuffled out of the Great Hall, stomachs full and eyes slightly droopy from the big meal. Their hands found each other as they walked down the chilly halls, providing a source of heat and comfort in the midst of so much cold.

Once they reached Y/N’s quarters, Charlie flopped down on the bed with a sigh, stretching out on the comforter with a groan.

Y/N couldn’t resist the urge to crawl onto the bed, tucking herself at his side. The familiar warmth of Charlie’s strong arm wrapping around her was enough for her to sigh contentedly, closing her eyes and succumbing to the gentle pull of sleep.

“Wait, wait…” she heard him mumble, feeling the words vibrate through his chest.

A groan escaped her lips as she felt him shift, pulling the both of them into a seated position.

“Can’t, ‘m comfy here,” she grumbled, refusing to open her eyes.

Instead of replying, Charlie carefully maneuvered them so that she lay back on the cold sheets and he slipped off the bed. It was silent for a few moments, save for the sound of his footsteps echoing through the room. Y/N was tempted to crack open her eyes just to see what he was up to, but the comfort posed by the bed was too strong.

She knew he would eventually come back, and he did, the bed dipping as he kneeled on the space next to her.

“Love,” he whispered, his hand brushing her cheek softly.

“What’s it?” she mumbled, finally easing her eyes open.

Beside her, sitting on the backs of his heels, Charlie held out a wrapped gift. The sight of him with a sheepish smile on his face, hands fidgeting nervously with the ribbon wrapped around the package, was enough for Y/N to sit up quickly.

“Charlie?” she asked, tentatively taking the gift from him, “What’s this?”

Her boyfriend cleared his throat before speaking, “I, erm, I was going to wait to have this delivered to you on Christmas morning but, I figured I’d rather see you open it in person.”

Y/N didn’t need any more explanation as she tore open the wrapping. An intricately designed box opened to reveal the most beautiful necklace she had ever laid her eyes on. It was fairly simple, the design, a single pearl-like object in the center of a silver chain. If it weren’t shifting through iridescent hues of pink then blue then green then purple, she would have thought it were a pearl.

Tentatively, her fingers glided over the small round thing and it was warm to the touch.

“Oh it’s gorgeous,” she breathed, her eyes flitting upwards to meet Charlie’s.

“You like it?” he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I love it!” she grinned, “Will you put it on me?”

For having such large and calloused hands, Charlie was nimble and quick with the clasp of the necklace, his fingers sending shivers down her spine as he placed the necklace on her.

“It’s made out of the shell of an Antipodean Opaleye’s egg,” he explained when she turned to face him once more, “I asked a friend of mine back in Romania if he could fashion it onto a necklace. I saw the shell and thought it would look stunning on you, I was right.”

With a soft smile, Y/N’s arms snaked around his neck and she pressed a soft kiss on his lips, “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Love you.”

“I love you too.”

The couple stayed in each other’s arms for a long time, relishing in the warmth and comfort of the other. When they finally managed to get dressed for bed and Y/N was tucked under Charlie’s arm for the night, their hearts were full.

“Happy Christmas, my love,” he whispered as they were lulled to sleep.

–

add yourself to my taglist!

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Charlie taglist: @pinkypurplemagic @lifeofkaze @oldschoolkiddo @turtletaylor98 @id-kill-to-be-an-assassin

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley imagines #charlie weasley imagine #charlie weasley fics #charlie weasley fic #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x y/n #tw meal mention #tw implied sex

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romanapologist · 3 years

Text

montreal - roman hurt/comfort

pairing: this was written to all be platonic prinxiety, but can definitely be interpreted romantically !

warnings: unconventional self harm, non-graphic descriptions of wounds/injury

summary: a post-POF roman hurt/comfort fic in january 2021? yes <3

word count: 3.2k

notes: large portions of this were salvaged from one (1) night last summer at 4am when i was having a . time. the rest has been mainly recently written before i go to bed, with some extra bits added during my history classes B)) also shout out to [REDACTED]. u may not read this but if u do, i hope u know who u are & ilu

Virgil had been trying to calm himself down for the better part of an hour, as soon as they got back from the wedding fiasco; and he was doing a relatively okay job. Considering the circumstances, at least. Or so he thought, when he registered a spike in Thomas’s anxiety. This only served to make Virgil more anxious, because he had thought he had been doing well—until, he realized it wasn’t anxiety, not exactly, not fully—and it wasn’t coming from him.

Once he'd figured that out, it wasn't hard to trace the feeling to the imagination. He paused at the door. If this was where the strongest negative emotions were coming from, he already knew which side this was about. And could he really be surprised? Roman had wanted that callback for so long. Even at the court case, even when Roman gave Thomas his sentence, Virgil knew it killed him. And Virgil didn't do anything. Because he was so fucking scared of Thomas being bad, or of Janus winning, or something, and now whatever was going on was his fault, and--

And now was not the time for these thoughts. He breathed in. He opened the door.

Immediately, he was coughing out soot, heat burned his cheeks, his eyes blurred with protective tears forming against the smoke. It was hard to see, let alone process, what was happening. Then, he caught sight of the Dragon Witch. And he caught sight of—

“Roman!” Virgil choked on the yell, coughing again.

Obviously Roman couldn’t hear him from the distance, especially considering the brutal roar of the creature. Adrenaline kicked in, and as Virgil began to sprint towards the prince, he took in the entirety of the scene with alarm. Roman was...fighting, sure, except that Virgil had seen him fight before, and this... wasn’t right. Roman bested manticore-chimeras like it was a breeze, he HAD bested the Dragon Witch herself in every form she took, “just for training.” He always moved like he was in a ballet, not a battle, like it was more for show than challenge, and now...

Virgil watched Roman fall to a hard swish of the creature’s tail, and stay there. He almost expected the Dragon Witch to take mercy, or at least, to accept an early victory. But he watched her rear back, raise a taloned hand, the magma-red in her throat glowing brighter and brighter—just as Virgil got close enough to let fight win over flight.

Virgil crashed into Roman; they rolled just far enough that the swipe of claws only ripped the edge of Virgil’s jacket.

Immediate danger out of the way, Virgil clenched his eyes tight, trying to do it how Logan taught him. He found something that didn’t make sense--the grass. The grass was dry, therefore it should have been burning, but it wasn’t. He took that foothold to dispel all the fantastical elements of the scene, Dragon Witch and all her carnage blinking from existence. The new calm of the scene was jarring.

That just left a great big field, Virgil, and one absolute dumbass.

"What the fuck, Princey?!"

Virgil’s voice was distorted with stress, and Roman stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure—even terrified in a way that hurt. Virgil quickly pushed himself up so he wasn't pinning the other. Roman tried to copy this movement, only to groan, start coughing, and fall back again.

“Shit, I—“ Virgil looked at his hands and found red on them, looked at Roman and saw the color painting his chest. “I thought I dispelled all the imaginary stuff, why—?“

“Left brain sides can only dispel so much of what right brain sides feel,” Roman said, voice rough and thin and upsettingly casual, “Since they feel so real to me, you can’t get rid of them.”

“They feel…? Christ, ok, you need a medical kit, uhm—“ Virgil closed his eyes again; he was notoriously shitty at summoning things, and he had to concentrate for this—

“That’s ok; I’ve got it,” Roman said, letting out a quiet hiss as he propped himself up on one arm, and summoned the medical kit with the other, “You can go now.”

Virgil gaped at him in disbelief. When Roman attempted to stand up, and Virgil could no longer deny he wasn’t joking, he exclaimed, “Like Hell am I going, idiot!”

Roman just stared at him, and Virgil cursed under his breath. “Ok ok, let’s just... we should do this in the bathroom, uhm—“

Virgil awkwardly clambered over to Roman again, taking his hand, so he could blink them over together. He knew it would probably be more comfortable for Roman to sink in and out, but considering Virgil wasn’t practiced at that, he wasn’t going to risk screwing it up.

They apparated into the bathtub, and Virgil scrambled up, taking the med kit from Roman's hands.

Ok, ok, now Virgil just had to remember that one time Logan lectured them all on “Side Safety.” He took a shaky breath and washed his hands quickly, before turning back to Roman. He allowed himself to fully assess the prince this time and… Jesus. He was slumped against the back of the tub, having given up his attempts at composure while he thought Virgil wasn’t looking. His litany of scrapes, cuts, bruising, his shallow breathing, and--most of all--the wet, red patch slowly growing on his shirt, sparked renewed panic in Virgil.

“Ok, fuck, ok--let’s do this,” Virgil said, mostly to himself, as he knelt down by Roman to undo his already tattered shirt and take a wet towel to his chest. He had to suck in a breath at the sight of the jagged wound, a nauseous feeling catching up to him.

“You’ve already done a lot, you know,” Roman insisted. “You can--”

“If you tell me to go, Princey, I swear I’ll make these wounds worse myself,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, which he would assume Roman knew--but the way Roman flinched and shut his mouth told a different story. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Of course I didn’t mean that!”

Roman glanced away, and Virgil reached to cup his cheek, an instinct he didn’t know he had. Luckily, he caught himself in time to retract his hand. They both avoided eye contact for a second; Virgil cleared his throat; and he reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide before pausing. He vaguely recalled Logan mentioning how strong alcohols would only cause more harm, and they should just stick to mild soap instead. He gave the cut a longer look-over—it was certainly not a pretty sight, but probably not as bad as it looked. It was large, but not too deep. Plus, as sides, it would heal itself without needing anything like stitches or professional medical work. The past scars littering Roman’s body were proof of that. Actually--had he always had this many scars? Virgil squinted. How often did he do this?

Virgil finished cleansing and bandaging the wound to the best of his ability, with little talk beyond the occasional, soft “sorry” at Roman’s winces. When he had finished, he gave Roman his hoodie (an action the Prince was too tired to take much notice of), since summoning a new shirt seemed like a waste of whatever energy he had left.

“Ok, Princey, all done. Uhm, are you—how, how are you?” Virgil mentally kicked himself.

A small, bitter smile tugged at Roman’s lips for just a moment. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and finally shrugged. “Thank you for your help.”

It hurt, Virgil realized. Roman’s quiet voice, where near-shouting was his usual speech. His unkempt hair sticking to his forehead, where it was usually styled to be very lightly and intentionally ruffled. The bags beneath his eyes where there was usually concealer. All of it hurt.

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m being annoying, but I hope you know there’s absolutely no way I’m leaving yet.”

“Virgil,” Roman almost said it as a whine, which was closer to his usual style, so Virgil considered it progress.

“Roman,” Virgil deadpanned back.

Roman huffed. “Maybe I need space to really explore my feelings, and you’re actually being a terrible friend right now,” he argued.

“Uh-huh, well being a terrible friend is always my favorite, so,” Virgil leaned down, fumbling slightly as he picked Roman up bridal style, “We’re gonna get you to bed, and you can explore your feelings by sleeping.”

“Great, now you’re damsel-in-distressing me,” Roman said sarcastically, but he leaned his head into Virgil’s chest as he did so, which kind of ruined his point.

“Yeah, yeah. Act more like Megara next time, and maybe it’ll be different.”

•••

Roman groaned upon waking up. His whole body ached, but mainly it was focused around a sharper pain in his chest. He let his eyes flutter open, only to find Virgil staring at him from his desk.

“Ah,” Roman uttered, a jumble of memories from the past few hours returning. They felt foggy and mildly icky, but mainly the pain in them was the numb kind of pain, the tired kind. Really, it was indistinguishable from the dull ache of his bruises and cuts.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, as though he understood, even though he couldn’t possibly. “Uh, wanna talk about it?”

It was clear Virgil felt awkward asking the question. It was unclear whether that was due to his tendency to be embarrassed by everything he said, or—far more likely—that he wanted to stop babying a stupid prince, and just go about his business.

Roman sat up, suppressing a wince as best he could. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Of course I do.” Virgil said it without an ounce of hesitation. Roman’s breath caught.

“Oh.” Roman shifted slightly over, and Virgil took a seat by him on the bed. “Okay. Uhm. I don’t know, I just—I messed up.” What else was new?

“...What did you mess up?” Virgil asked, with an inkling of suspicion, like he knew what this was about. But it wasn’t that; it wasn’t the callback—that was over and done and dead. Roman had created so many fantasies, so many crazy scenarios where they could somehow still make it in that stupid movie, and it had always filled him with hope or crushing pain or something, but as of this afternoon? He didn’t even care. It didn’t matter.

So, Roman ignored the question, and instead commented, “Janus got accepted.”

“What the fuck.”

Roman observed Virgil’s stricken expression like an unsettling kind of mirror of himself when—

My name is Janus.

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, “I didn’t take it so well either.”

Virgil looked at him for a long moment, seeming to go through several series of emotions, before he was able to ask, “...What happened?”

Roman inhaled sharply. “I was wrong about being wrong about the wedding. Patton was also wrong; Janus was right, and then Patton was right because he wasn’t a total asshole to Janus, and I’m evil; Thomas hates me; whatever, you get it.”

He thought he would break down, saying it, but he felt oddly… fine. He sat, staring at the same spot as he was before, absentmindedly annoyed at the way his bandages itched. The normalcy of the situation almost made it worse. This sucked. This wasn’t even bad.This was the worst he had ever felt.

“Oook,” Virgil said, clearly not knowing where to start, “I—you—what do you mean: Thomas hates you?”

“Thought that one was self-explanatory.”

“He can’t hate you,” Virgil said with a laughable amount of conviction. “You’re still his… y’know.. goals. Desires. Hopes. Whatever. Just because this one didn’t go… perfectly, doesn’t mean you won’t keep—“ he struggled to find the phrasing for a moment— “...fighting, uh, valiantly for Thomas’s dreams!” he attempted at the encouragement with a weak smile.

Roman just shook his head. “No. I don’t know what he wants.”

Virgil’s smile dropped into confusion. “But… you are his wants.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”

Virgil seemed at a loss, and Roman felt like an asshole. Here he was trying to help him, and Roman couldn’t even be bothered to put on a smile to dismiss him from the duty.

“Please go,” Roman attempted weakly when he couldn’t find a more convincing argument in himself. He was meant to be an actor, but he knew he couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted him to stay, of course he did, so badly. He hoped Virgil would just quit with the chivalry and go despite that.

Virgil sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I'm going about this all wrong.”

Roman knew it probably wasn’t really him Virgil was mad at, but it was hard not to shrink away anyway.

“Look, Roman—“ Virgil turned to him, looked at him seriously, took his hands in his— “To be honest? I don’t care what happened. I don’t care who was right or wrong—I mean, we all know I’ve been in the wrong more than my fair share. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Roman didn’t miss the ambiguity of the end statement. “But… look, you don’t get it. When you mess up, you’re still you. You’re still...,” Roman gestured vaguely, which upset his bandages, and when he looked down at himself, he took note of the black/purple hoodie he was wearing. He melted slightly. This was exactly the point he was trying to make, “You’re still... y’know. Important.”

“Wh—? Of course you’re important, Ro. You’re creativity—“

“Thomas has two of those.”

Virgil looked at him like he was stupid. “Right, as if you’re anything like Remus.”

Roman’s lip quivered at that, and he had to look away, which was so stupid. And suddenly he felt all of the embarrassment at once—of this situation, of everything that had happened before, of the way he was about to cry, in front of Virgil, after he said that, which must look so—

“Roman?”

A hand was on his cheek, softly turning his face towards Virgil’s, though Roman still refused to meet his eyes.

Virgil cursed to himself under his breath. “Shit, this is exactly what I was trying not to say.” He sighed, and Roman hesitantly looked up at him. “Look. Even if you weren’t creativity, if you weren’t hopes or dreams or any of it—if you were a completely pointless side, which you aren’t, but if you were—I wouldn’t care. What I care about is that you’re... Roman. That you bother me until I sing Disney with you, that when you put your heart into something, you do it to a stupid amount, that you make Thomas take trashy buzzfeed soulmate quizzes when he’s stressed, and that you fucking try so hard for everything, even when I’m being a little bitch about it,” he paused. With the hand on Roman’s cheek, he traced the line of a scar down his jaw. It was one of the ones Roman usually made sure to put an illusion over, he noted offhandedly. “I care, because you’re my best friend.”

“Don’t say that,” Roman choked out. He couldn’t handle it if it was a lie, and part of him couldn’t manage hearing it as anything but exactly that. “Just—just—“

“Oh, Princey..”

Virgil held him as he broke. Roman didn’t know how long they sat like that as he let everything wash over him for a final time, let it all truly sink in at long last. He took heaving, messy sobs, no doubt ruining Virgil’s shirt in the process—he was quiet, though. He shook silently, save a couple choked breaths, in the other’s arms--that was a habit he had taught himself long ago.

When Roman had tired himself out, when all that was left was the pain in chest, (which was also suddenly duller—he was healing fast, even for a side—) he pulled back from the embrace. Virgil didn’t move by much, kept them so their fingers were laced together, as they sat staring at each other.

“Uhm. Thanks,” Roman gave a shaky smile, “You really—uh... I... I said some stupid stuff, huh?”

Virgil hesitated before he spoke, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask this right now, but needed to anyway. “...Roman, why’d you go to the Imagination?”

Roman felt ice stab at his chest upon the question. He didn’t want to do this. They had already talked about so much that he shouldn’t have gotten into; this was meant to be the part where they either parted or watched a stupid movie. And this, out of everything, was the conversation he most needed to avoid.

“Uh—I mean, to let off steam?” Roman gave a laugh as best he could. “Obviously, it didn’t go to plan—“

“Didn’t it?”

Roman’s face fell immediately. He struggled to come up with an answer, and even if he had had one, he didn’t think the sound would come out. This was enough of an answer in itself

“Shit,” Virgil breathed. Roman couldn’t help but be mildly annoyed by his surprise—clearly he had already known, he didn’t have to make it a big deal now.

“I… Princey—Roman…” Virgil looked him up and down, and Roman wanted to curl up and hide. “...how many times?”

“Not many,” Roman mumbled. Virgil must have known he was pushing the subject too far, because he just frowned and said,

“OK. I mean...it’s not OK, obviously, but you already know that, I just—“ he sighed. “Just… can you talk to me? Instead? Please? When you feel like… that.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Roman responded hastily, wanting an out from this topic.

Virgil gave him a look. “I’m serious. I mean—look, you don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want. Just, come to me first, yeah?”

Roman’s face burned; he was embarrassed; he wanted to shrug this whole thing off, or roll his eyes, or maybe scream in annoyance. But the rational part of him knew Virgil was right. “OK,” he agreed softly, “...Thanks. For everything.”

Virgil looked surprised, and then flustered, and then waved off the earnest reply. “I mean, it wasn’t--I didn’t--it’s not like I did anything really--”

“You did.”

Virgil’s face softened. “Yeah, well... you’d’ve done the same for me. You... have done the same for me.”

Roman smiled gently at him. “By the way, Virge--” He hesitated. He was about to sound like a real dumbass if Virgil had only been saying this stuff for comfort’s sake. But making a fool of himself was becoming a theme for him anyway, so he continued, “You’re my best friend too.”

I love you.

In the same beats Roman thought it, Virgil squeezed his hand lightly 3 times. A breath passed between them. An understanding. That Roman couldn’t say it out loud, and Virgil wouldn’t.

Instead, Virgil fell back across the bed, bringing Roman with him in the motion. Roman let out a startled gasp and elbowed him lightly. “Hey! I’m injured, that could have been a fatal impact for me!” he whined.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah, OK. So, do you wanna watch a stupid movie, or what?”

#lucy.fic #romangst #roman sanders angst #roman hurt/comfort #prinxiety #platonic prinxiety #ts roman #ts virgil #everyone ik reading the title of this fic: ohhh my god we know u like penelope scott we know #‘we know u associate this song w roman we KNOW</3’#roman sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #also standard statement that im not a writer i just write sometimes pls do not. judge thishehusgs

253 notes · View notes

fandomficsnstuff · 3 years

Text

In Just A Second - 2

Legolas x Witch!Reader

(Warnings: None I think, though the next part will have fighting in it, cause we all know what happens there)

You were about to slay another orc when Boromir practically jumped in front of you, killing it and almost knocking you to the ground in the process “you should not be here! A woman has no place on a battleground!” you scoffed at his words, your cheeks burning with anger, as well as the rest of your face, you were furious, and you were seriously considering cutting off his head and blaming it on an orc. Your eyes burned with rage as you cut down an orc that he hadn’t seen, it’s sword raised, about to cut him down “I do NOT-” you cut off the head of an orc “need-” stabbed another in the throat “HELP!” you cut off yet another head, orc blood splattered on your face as you turned to face Boromir who stared at you in pure shock “so I’ll only say this once; get out of my way or I’ll blame your death on an orc!” you hissed, turning around and cutting down another orc, making your way to the Hobbits, watching them, somewhat proudly, fighting with what they had.

You froze as you heard a groan of pain, your head turning to a cave troll, piercing Frodo’s chest with it’s spear, your eyes watered as you fought your way to him, cutting the knees and legs of the cave troll, gaining help from the rest of the fellowship in cutting it down, and before it even hit the ground you were at Frodo’s side “Frodo, no… no Frodo please” you were about to use your powers to try and heal him, like Gandalf had done with Thorin after his first battle with Azog, with burning trees surrounding you and the eagles coming to save you. You were about to use whatever power you had, when Frodo sat up “I’m okay…” you let out a heavy breath of relief, your eyes closing as you saw the Mithril under his shirt, a small smile adorning your lips.

You hugged Frodo briefly, still smiling at him as you helped him up, gently patting his back “you continue to amaze me, my dear little friend” you giggled and ruffled his hair, earning a nervous smile from him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You let out a yelp as an arrow landed at your feet, bouncing off of the stone made steps, about to fall backwards when a pair of quick hands gently caught you and steadied you, turning to look over your shoulder you saw Legolas give a quick smile at you before helping throw the Hobbits over the crack in the stairs to Gandalf. “God I really regret wishing to see this place…” you mumbled as you tried to build up your courage to jump across, the gap growing bigger and bigger as the old stone continued to crumble, taking away the stairs under you. You finally jumped, being caught by Gandalf, turning around and ready to catch Frodo when the steps began to wobble, your eyes wide as Aragorn and Frodo finally jumped once the wobbling steps clashed against the rest of the stairs, he landed directly into your arms and you felt his arms wrap around your waist for security, it warmed your heart for the brief moment that it lasted.

You ran across the bridge with Frodo, your hand on his shoulder to make sure he kept running, ready to catch him if he should stumble and fall. Once you reached the other side of the bridge you turned around and made sure all the others made it across, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry, Legolas, Aragorn, Boromir and Ganda-

Your eyes widened as you saw Gandalf stop at the middle of the bridge, you felt your throat closing up as he faced the Balrog, eyes watering as you tried to fight your way to him, Legolas keeping a firm grip on you, but despite his reassuring words that you never even heard, his tight grip on you that kept you in place, you fought, you fought to get to Gandalf. You froze as you saw the Balrog fall, there was a split second of relief as Gandalf turned around, but it was snuffed out as the Balrog used a whip of fire, catching his ankle and just before Gandalf fell to the darkness, he told you to flee. You screamed at the top of your lungs seeing him fall, you fought to get to him, you did, you clawed at the hands holding you back, kicking at the air as you were practically lifted up, carried out of the mines as orcs filled the halls, tears streaming down your face like rivers, unending and unhindered.

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You were still as you had the arrows pointed at you, frozen in place, your eyes on the grass beneath your feet, glossed over and empty, you had been like this since you got out of the mines of Moria, since-... you blinked to try and loose your own train of throat, lifting your gaze and seeing Haldir, a frown on his elven features as he studied you. You didn’t move as Haldir slowly approached you, gently placing a hand on your back, guiding you with the rest of the Fellowship to Galadriel. As you walked you heard her voice, a voice you had heard many times before, the last time was sixty years ago, you had only briefly met her in Rivendell, it was dark but she shone brighter than the moon.

You stood before the Lady of Lothlórien, your eyes downcast, as they had been the whole way there, you hadn’t even heard a single word of what they were saying, it was only when the rest of the Fellowship turned away that you moved, following out of instinct, but a voice stopped you “(Y/N), not you” you turned and looked at Galadriel with the same empty eyes that you had this whole way. You stepped closer to her as the rest of the Fellowship left, unaware that Legolas lingered, watching you with concerned eyes before being urged to leave by Aragorn.

You kept your eyes on the ground as Galadriel approached you, gently placing her hand under your chin, lifting your eyes to meet her own “Neth er(Young one), I can see the grief in your eyes, but you must remember, he was, and always will, be proud of you.” you closed your eyes at her words, feeling a tear roll down your cheek as you tried to keep your composure “My Lady Galadriel, thank you, but it is not my doubt that he would be proud of me, it is that I will never hear it from him again” you opened your eyes and saw a sad smile on her lips, she leaned down and gently kissed your forehead, and you felt a power run through you, like embers being stirred alive, brought to flames. You knew it was Galadriel using a small amount of her power to keep you going, and you were thankful for it, it gave you a tiny amount of hope that everything would be alright, and that was all you needed to keep going. “Thank you, My Lady, I hope that when this is all over, I can grieve him properly” Galadriel gave you a small nod, gently cupping your cheek before letting you go join the rest of the Fellowship, your eyes less dim, a small, barely there spark having been lit in your eyes.

When you reached the others, you gently smiled at the Hobbits, giving Frodo a warm smile, one he returned, but it held the same sadness yours did. You sat down on the soft grass, watching the trees surrounding you, the trees of Lothlórien had always amazed you, even when you were younger. You felt someone sit besides you, but it wasn’t who you expected, the red haired man, Boromir, was sitting beside you with a sad look on his face “in the mines… I-... forgive me, I assumed you were incapable of protecting yourself and I was wrong, I’m sorry. And, Gandalf… I’m sorry for your loss…” you listened, eyes on the grass in front of your feet, after a while you turned and looked at him “I’m an Istari, a spirit, but for some reason I-... I was created as a child… Gandalf raised me as his own. I grew quickly, by the time I should have been one year, I was more like five. In a short time I was able to travel with him, learn from him… I-... saw him as a sort of father, I think… he raised me, took care of me, took me on his travels, taught me everything I know, but I never believed I would succeed him… we are both immortal, or… were… so I always imagined it would be him and I forever, as childish as it seems. I only wish I could have helped him against the Balrog, maybe with my powers combined with his we-... he wouldn’t-...” you sighed as you felt tears build up in the corners of your eyes, your gaze turning from Boromir as you closed your eyes. “I am so sorry, My Lady, forgive me for doubting you, I’m afraid it is all I have to offer” you smiled through your tears “you are forgiven, Boromir, son of Denethor” you gave him a small smile before getting up and walking over to Legolas, you could hear the elves of Lothlórien singing, it pained you that you knew what they said, they were mourning him, and for a brief second, you hummed along, another way of grieving him, respecting and lamenting him.

You and Frodo were the only ones awake when Galadriel walked past you, you gave her a sweet smile, your gaze turning to Frodo as he quietly approached you, a curious frown on his face, “she wants you to follow her, Frodo” you whispered, receiving a confused look but eventually he followed after her, what they did, you knew not.

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You giggled at Pippin when he said how many Lembas he ate, gently shaking your head at him “four Lembas bread?” you asked stunned, Pippin just looked at you with a carefree smile, one that you already adored “how many meals do hobbits eat for you to so easily eat FOUR Lembas bread?” Pippin seemed to light up at your question “well of course there’s breakfast, then there’s second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon and of course afternoon tea, then there’s dinner and then supper” he said in an almost professional manner, making you giggle again “my, so many meals! That explains your appetite” Pippin blushed as he gave you his best attempt at a sly wink, which made you full on laugh this time, helping him into the boats. Legolas watched you as you laughed, a warm smile on his lips “you’re staring again, my friend” Aragorn commented as he helped put the supplies into the boats, Legolas’ smile just grew a tad brighter “I just enjoy her laugh, yesterday it seemed like she’d never smile again…” Aragorn hummed and glanced at you as you continued to converse with the Hobbits, Sam joining in as well with Frodo occasionally speaking up. “It will take time, but she will smile again, truly, you just have to help her get there” Aragorn whispered the last part, making Legolas’ ears grow red as he finally tore his eyes away from you “perhaps, but only if she wants me to” Legolas helped carry the last of the supplies into the boats before getting in himself, only now realizing that while he had been talking, Aragorn had quite quickly switched boats with you, leaving you with Legolas.

You smiled at Legolas as he settled in behind you, watching as you turned your head and waved Haldir goodbye with a sad smile, were you really that sad to leave him? Haldir had been the one to lead you to Galadriel, his hand on your back the whole time, maybe he was missing something between the two of you? The thought made his stomach feel empty, cold, hollow. He was brought out of his thoughts by Gimli “would you row? Don’t want the rest to leave without us!” Gimli hassled, making you chuckle as you took an oar, Legolas following your example, taking one for himself as the two of you began to follow after Aragorn and Boromir.

You watched the scenery around you with a sad smile, making Legolas lean a bit closer to you “what are you thinking of, My Lady?” you looked over your shoulder at him with a shrug, looking back ahead again “I remember when I was younger, Gandalf took me here, to Lothlórien, to Galadriel. I remember thinking that she was going to be this frightening woman, but instead I was met with a kind and warm smile and a beautiful lady, dressed in white, shining so bright it put the moon to shame” you chuckled at the memory, looking back at Legolas to see him fondly smiling at you, “and please, (Y/N)” you added, turning back and continuing to casually row along Aragorn and Boromir, not seeing the way Legolas all but melted at your request to call you by your first name.

You ended up in a conversation with Frodo and Sam, well mostly Sam, as you rowed to the shore next to each other “now you see, the thing with lavenders is that not only they smell wonderful, but the scent itself keeps bugs at bay, it’s why I planted so many outside the windows at Bag End, keeps the little bugs outta the house” you hummed as you got out of the boat and into the water, dragging the boat up on the shore along with Legolas “I guess it makes sense, if I ever have a home somewhere, would you help plant some with me?” you smiled at a very bashful Sam “of course, My Lady” his cheeks were bright red and it made you smile “thank you, Sam, it would be lovely” you helped Frodo on dry land as well as Sam, then going to help Pippin and Merry, though already finding them with both feet in the water, walking to the dry shore proudly, or well, Pippin was doing it proudly, Merry was walking behind him like he was tired of Pippin and was ready to strangle him, but you knew he wouldn’t.

You giggled as you approached Merry, “what’s with the sour look?” Merry looked up at you before back to Pippin “he wouldn’t shut up about you, My Lady, that’s all. Kept talkin’ about how pretty you are, his head is practically touching the skies...” you blushes at Merry’s words, looking at your feet as you awkwardly chuckled “ah, I see...” Merry gave you a sympathetic look before walking over to Pippin again, leaving you to help take the supplies from the boats, only to bump into a surprisingly sturdy chest, looking up and seeing Legolas as he had reached for the same bag as you. “Forgive me, Legolas, I didn’t see you” you stepped back with heat rushing to your cheeks, Legolas smiling down at you “nor did I, sorry” you shrugged it off and took another bag as he took the one you had both been reaching for “nothing to be sorry for, we’re a lovely pair, aren’t we? Both bumping into each other” you joked, laughing low as you walked past Aragorn with a smile. Aragorn joining a frozen Legolas, his eyes going from you to the Elf, then back to you and back to the Elf again “what did she say?” Aragorn had to wave a hand in front of Legolas to get him to snap out of it “oh uh nothing just… we bumped into each other, reaching for the same bag, that’s all” Legolas mumbled, making Aragorn full on laughing at what his old friend had said, which made Legolas more embarrassed “that’s what made you turn to stone like that?” Legolas shook his head at his question “no, she said we’d make a good pair…” Aragorn stopped laughing and smiled brightly at him “that’s good, is it not?” he asked, Legolas shrugging, but seeing Aragorn’s smile he couldn’t help but smile himself, just a tiny bit, enjoying the idea of you with him, as more than you are now.

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(lord help me...)

Tags:

@entishramblings

@depressedchilipepper

@graniairish (I wasn't sure if you wanted to be tagged in general or just the Guardian Angel fic, let me know and I'll remove you if it's just the Guardian Angel fics:D)

#Legolas Greenleaf #Legolas x Reader #Legolas #LOTR #Lord Of The Rings FanFic #LOTR FanFic

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baslade · 2 years

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꧁ ( keanu reeves. cis male. he/his. hard bodied & ghost data. ) well, would you look at bishop aleksander slade this year? i believe they have been training for twenty-one of their fifty-two years of life. this makes them a high level hunter in their family, but they’re also pretty good at gunsmithing. when dusk falls, you can usually find them heading home to queens by motorcycle. @duskintros

name: bishop aleksander slade. alias: b. aleksander slade. age: 52. date of birth: september 15. species: human / hunter. occupation: master gunsmith, contract hunter. sexuality: grey-romantic heterosexual. hair color: dark brown. eye color: dark brown. height: 6′1″. build: athletic, muscular.

small bits.

bishop aleksander slade was born into a military family: his father was a marine corps officer and his mother was a field paramedic. as such he was moved from country to country his entire life.

he goes by aleksander, officially shortening his name on all documents to b. aleksander.

he lost his mother when he was 14 in active duty. this left him with his father, who imposed upon his son very strict rules and expectations. aleksander lived up to them all, and even exceeded them. however his father only ever gave credit where it was due and he was never met with pats on the back.

naturally he enlisted when he was 18. he served seven years before he was honorably discharged with an injury. civilian life did not settle well with him, and he took odd jobs for a little while before he was recruited by hunters.

aleksander applied all of his military training toward hunting and made a name for himself in the world after only a few short years. his cool, calm, and collected attitude while on contracts earned him a reputable place.

he’s never aligned himself with a family per-say, and he’s allowed his roots and extensions to cross into various types of connections: he has to get his potions from somewhere, after all.

aleksander is a reputable gunsmith. he makes everything from pistols to assault rifles. his skills extend into his personal arsenal, and he charges a pretty penny for his work.

never call him bishop. even if you know his name.

he holds no personal ill will towards or against one species - he’s an equal opportunity hunter, and he’s even killed humans when paid for it.

possible connections.

active contracts: a family whose currently hiring aleksander for his talents. 0/1 family.

clients: you can acquire one of aleksander’s specialty firearms for a nominal fee. it takes time to make them, and they’re never inexpensive, but they’ll be the best quality weapon you’ve ever had the pleasure of firing. most of his clients are through word-of-mouth, and they enjoy repeating business. 0/5.

friends: he’s been in and out of new york frequently in his time, as well as a well-traveled man. while he doesn’t have anyone whose incredibly close with him he has many acquaintances through his work and he’s allowed a few to become more than cordial. congratulations, you’re one of the few, now have a nice drink and a chat, yes?. 0/5.

professional connections: someone aleksander does his hunting business with. whether it’s another hunter he’s worked beside, a witch whose done spellwork for him ( paid well in exchange, of course ), werewolves he’s assisted in territory conflicts, vampires he’s been hired to assist, etcetera ... his connections are like a network of weeping willow roots: vast and well-spread. whether or not they like or trust aleksander is an entirely different story, but the relationship is wholly symbiotic. 0/5.

military buddies: perhaps they served with him. perhaps not, but they know of his service. war has a way of bringing people together, and even in times of peace there’s a connection that few will understand. aleksander was a marine, like his father, but he can recognize that spark in any branch of any military. it’s a connection even his friends don’t understand, a professional courtesy but deeped. 0/3.

one-night stands: a man has needs. he doesn’t open himself up frequently to these particular endeavors but he has tumbled in the sack with more than his fair share of women in his time. some it was a one and done deal, some happened more than that, but it’s always just been physical. open to 35+ ( please bear in mind aleksander’s age ) 1/3 - imogen o’riley.

the one big love: will likely be sent in as a wc on the main. it happened. he never imagined it would, but it happened like a whirlwind. he met her and fell in love and it was like having his body slammed into a cliffside by high-tide, stormy waves. for whatever reason they aren’t together any longer, but he still carries that torch for her. open to any species, please bear aleksander’s age in mind. 1/1 - elspeth blackbourne.

#dusk:intro #ii. about.

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trashiewrites · 3 years

Text

Hello Nurse~

(Russell Adler x F!Reader)

Short debrief: Adler is injured and meets a lovely nurse who he has indeed caught his attention.

Term dictionary:

(Y/n)- your name

(H/c)- hair color

(H/l)- Haigh length

(S/t)- skin tone

Words:1407

Russell held his arm as the chopper lowered into the base. Sims stood next to him with a concerned look for his fighting buddy. "Hey Adler, need help getting to the meds?"

"Don't worry Sims, I'll make it." He hopped out his chopper seat with a bit of a wince. "Its not that bad" Sims frowned his brow as he aswell left the heli.

"You know what? You do you Adler! But you know don't come bitching when you get hurt again." Sims huffed as he grabbed his weapon and began to leave.

"I am the last person to bitch Sims. You should know that you sour nutbag." He slowly salutes, his face twitches as the stinging in his arm increased.

"Yeah, sure, now go to the meds!" Adler slowly let down his arm and walked casually. As he walked many soilders greeted him. Either with a verbal 'commander' of even just a salute. Honestly, especially with his arm the way it was, the greeting were rather exhausting.

As he moved into the medical tent mainly staying to the back, he looked at all the men who laid on the beds. Some were bloody messes, others looked dead. From a side room a younger nurse came out handing another nurse a serum and a needle. "Don't worry sir, it will all be okay!" Her voice was soft and encouraging. She looked up to see Adler standing there. "Oh my! Pardon me sir, do you need medical?" She walked up to him in a hurry placing a hand upon his good shoulder and his back.

"Yeah, fucked up my arm in the field I need to know what's up." She nodded as she leads him to an empty bed.

"Of course! Do you mind if I can get a hold of your bad arm?" He nodded in response, extended his arm to the nurse. He took the time to notice her features. (H/l) (h/c) hair that complimented her (s/t) skin. "What kind of pain have you've been feeling sir?" He groaned quietly as she pressed the sides of his arm for fractures. "Sorry..." she verbally noted.

"Well since I got back it's been mainly a stinging pain." Adler relaxed again and decided to ask her some questions. "You must be a new nurse down here, I dont remeber ever seeing a pretty face like yours."

"I am recently new, if that counts. Been here for a week now" she giggles softly and she placed his arm back down, "so from how I see it, you grazed the muscle and that may be the stinging pain. You also may have a bone fracture."

"Could be worse in a shithole like this place" Adler shrugged his shoulders, "so miss, what's your name?"

"Oh, did I never say it?" She looked up at him. He shook his head in response, "ah, well excuse my manners. I'm nurse (y/n). Its my honor to help you feel better!" Adler wasn't sure if his mind was also fucked but when she smiled she seemed to just glow.

"Does anyone tell you how pretty your smile is?" He cracks a small smile. She chuckles, covering her cheeks with her hand.

"O-oh thank you! P-pardon me, I got to grab the supplies Mr.?"

"Adler."

"Mr. Adler" she stood straight turned around and walked to the back. Russell stared at the door she entered for a second or two until he hear the bed next to him creak. It was a face hes seen around base, only knew his name.

"You know commander, they tell her that everyday. She hears it a million times but she never reacts like that," the man pulled a pack of cigs from his pocket. Pulled one out for himself then leaned the box towards Adler. As much as he would like one, he politely refused.

"You say so Corporal... Wells, right?" The soilder nods as he swiftly closed the pack of cig. Placing them back at the safety of his pocket and quickly let the flame.

"I ain't no talker but every single guy in base seems to likes her." Wells raised his brows as he took a breath of his cig. "I mean she is cute, but I'm happily married."

"Oh Mr.Wells! You seem to be doing better" the nurse smiles as she walks back with a small bucket of supplies. He moved his cig and exhaled

"Thanks to you nurse." Wells smiled as he took another breath of his cigarette. She placed the supplies upon the side table.

"It's really no problem! But if you are feeling okay now Mr.Wells, I'd have to ask you to leave the med tent" Well silently nodded his head and stood up. Saluted to Adler as well as a wink. Adler only nodded back, and he walked off without another word. "Now let's patch up those wounds Mr.Adler."

"What made you sign up for this hellish war?" Adler extended his arm out again. She held it gently yet she pondered the question. The cruel silence was almost enough to drive him mad. Yet the small just of the outdoor breeze seeped into the tent, slightly blowing the (hc) locks of her hair.

"Well," she grabbed a small rag as well rubbing alcohol, "I was just exiting nurse school by the time the war started. And like any other, I felt like I should use my services to help the soilders some home." Russell was a bit surprised at the notion. Women have the chance to be cozy and stay where it's safe. Alot of nurse happen to be are either here for the pay or were forced into it by their father or even husband. Not to say there isn't anyone else just here to actually be here, yet just a merry few. "This might sting." With that his train of thought ended as he clutched the bed from the stinging pain.

"Ah, Fuck. That hurt like a bitch

." Adler chuckled. "Mind kissing it better?" The two quietly laugh. (Y/n) actually having to cover her mouth to not laugh too loud.

"How about if I kiss you on the lips? Would that make it feel better?" Her eyes seemed to narrow as she cheekily smiled. Wrapping the arm wounds up with bandages.

"What's stopping you?" He leaned closer, his voice was deep and quiet. A sly grin stretched upon his face. She looked up to be only inches away from eachother. It was incredibly tempting to her to say the least. He just looked so good, even if she couldnt see his eyes. The glasses only made him seem more mysterious.

"If got a job to do, Mr.Adler." she grinned as she pushed him away from the bridge of his nose. Turning to her side to get the materials for a splint. It was mainly only small talk from here. Adler barely hid what rejection made him slightly bothered. As she tied up the last bits of it she grinned. "You know maybe we could have that kiss arranged." She reached to her side to grab the wrap she had to put on him. Yet as she leaned in to tie it around the neck. She leaned closely into his ear "meet me after sundown on the side of the med tent" she quickly pecked his cheek and finished tying the wrap, she sat back down.

Adler had his mouth slightly agape. Surely he didnt expect such a intimate invitation but fuck yeah he was more than willing to take it. He held a large grin, ear to ear. "Invitation accepted."

"Good, now that all I can do with your injuries Mr.Adler. you'll be out for a week at least. you can rest for a bit or leave the tent." She returned to her professional self.

"I'll be off then. Ill see you around nurse." Adler stood up and began to walk towards the tent exit.

"Of course you will!" She qleefully whispered as he walked past her. Adler excited out the tent, stood over to the side for a minute to process all that happened. She flooded his mind, that invitation seemed to be the only important thing in his head he could remeber.

"Huh, I'd fucking call her a witch doctor at this point huh." He chuckled to himself. Red rose to his cheeks. "What ever this spell is I guess it feels nice."

#russell adler #call of duty #cod #x reader #fandom #call of duty cold war #fanfiction

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Chasing Dreams

Summary: When Ginny Potter is having doubts about her pregnancy, her father-in-law shows up to give her some help, flying time and, of course, present his suggestion of baby names.

Read on AO3 or below:

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The wind blows in her face and Ginny closes her eyes, happily, enjoying the feelings that only the breeze over fifty feet in the air can bring. It's been a while since she has felt that breeze, considering the doctor warned to…

Doctor?

She opens her eyes, confused, but she can't remember anything specific. In fact, she doesn't even remember exactly how she got there - she knows she is on her Firebolt, well above ground, in a Quidditch field that looks like the one in Hogwarts; there is a mist around the field, but she thinks she can see the edges of the castle. It's been years since she played there. Perhaps she had a contusion? She can't recall, but still, it would take more than a Bludger to stop her from playing Quidditch.

'First season in the Holyhead Harpies, third match, right?', asks a voice close to her and she turns to see Harry slightly below her, also on a broom, his face turned away from her. She thinks there is something strange with his voice. 'That's the game a Bludger broke your foot after fifteen minutes of play and you refused to leave the game'.

Ginny nods, laughing at the memory.

'I told Gwenog that I needed my arms to play Chaser and they were working perfectly fine'.

'And Harry didn't know if he should be mad at you or kiss you'. There is a playfully chuckle. 'Guess we know which won in the end'.

'Harry…?'

The man turns to her, and now Ginny can see it's not Harry. He looks remarkable like Harry though, but the man with her has more lines in his face, his black hair is starting to recede, his nose is longer, and his eyes are completely different. Hazel eyes that shine with more mischief than she ever saw on Harry.

For a moment, Ginny is troubled, feeling like there is something wrong there; then she relaxes, as some part of her mind recognises him.

'I hope you are not listening to gossip, Mr. Potter', she says, grinning at James Potter with the feeling they are sharing a long-lost joke.

'You mean that article of the Witch Weekly saying how you and Harry like to shag on changing rooms, Mrs. Potter? Because I would never read that kind of gossip'.

'As if', Ginny scoffs lightly. 'Everyone knows you and Sirius are the worst tattletales ever, Mr. Potter'.

He laughs in agreement.

Ginny can't remember when that started, but she knows calling him formally is supposed to be a joke between them. Like he was annoyed when she first called him Mr. Potter ('It's James, Ginny, Mr. Potter was my old dad') until she started dating Harry, and then he'd started calling her Mrs. Potter long before they even began thinking about taking that step.

Ginny doesn't remember exactly - a lot of things seem mussed in her head -, but she thinks of a hug on her wedding day, hearing James Potter telling her she was already a Potter even before the wedding vows.

She thinks she might have dropped a tear back then, though the exact memory evades her.

'Well, you and Harry are our favourite celebrity couple', assures James. 'But I promise I give you privacy always - no matter where you are, though I must note that Weekly Witch tends to be right once in a while'.

Ginny feels warmth through her body that has nothing to do with the bright summer day - is it summer? She thought they were in February… -, as her mind perfectly recalls the aftermath of last year’s final match of the Quidditch league, when she and Harry had postponed the victory party in favour of him helping her ease all the tension from the match…

James coughs, as if to draw her attention, and Ginny blushes, trying to think desperately of something that could back away the memories of being with Harry in the shower and how his mouth -

'Quidditch!', James cries suddenly, drawing her attention. 'How about one-sided Quidditch? We can bet who scores the most'.

Ginny is about to say they have no Quaffle to play when she notices the ball in her hand. She doesn't remember taking the ball - and there is a nagging feeling she shouldn't be playing…

'Ginny?', calls James, and when she looks at him, he is smiling gently. 'It's okay, you can play now'.

His tone is reassuring, and she lets herself believe in his words. Besides, though she can't recall the reason, she feels like she misses flying; this should be silly - ever since she left school, all she’s been doing is playing Quidditch professionally, though in the last months…

The thought eludes her again.

Thinking no more of it, she throws him the Quaffle and goes to the hoops. Ginny was never a very good as Keeper - she can play Seeker very well and she loves chasing, of course -, but she can defend somewhat; most of the time, she just watches James Potter flying, dodging some Bludgers that come out of nowhere, and she thinks he flies really well, like if he really trained for it, instead of being more natural like Harry; his moves are perfectly executed, like a professional dancer.

He manages to score a few goals before she finally gets his ticks. James likes to show himself off; even when he has a clean shot, he likes to do manoeuvres that almost make him break his neck, before throwing the Quaffle.

'Oh, you got me', James admits in a defeated voice after she makes the fifth consecutively defence. 'Lily warned me that flaunting would only lead to me embarrassing myself'.

'You are good', Ginny assures him hurriedly, but James just shakes his head, undisturbed.

'I used to be, but I'm rusty. Well, fair is fair. Let's switch positions. Don't be afraid to put your father-in-law to shame, huh?'

Ginny grins. She flies to the middle of the field and as soon as he throws her the Quaffle she begins.

Her style is almost close to his, she realizes; they've both been trained. But Ginny is a top Chaser and there is a reason she holds the scoring-record from the Quidditch League, so after twenty minutes, James refuses to give her back the Quaffle after she scores another goal.

'I think that's enough', he says. 'Sirius won't stop laughing when he hears I barely managed one save that was luckier than any talent on my part'.

'We can keep it a secret', Ginny promises, and she thinks once more this is one of the things she and James Potter share.

How she never tells when she catches him eating the last piece of cake that Lily saved for herself, and how he never tells her mom the time she managed to be drunk at the Potter's New Year's Eve Party.

She can't specify in which year that happened, but it seems like something that could have happened - then it means it did happen, right?

‘You are really excellent’, James says, flying closer. ‘I’d seen you already, but playing with you…’’

Ginny frowns, not knowing how to answer. His comment seems off; of course, they’ve played before, in one of the many times she had dinner over the Potter’s and Harry convinced them to a family Quidditch game on cool nights. They all would play, her brothers against James and Sirius, teasing them for their old age to which they’d answer that they had more experience, while Lily would laugh, acting as a referee and asking them to avoid faults for once.

That had happened, she can’t have imagined it…

‘You remind me of myself, you know’, James adds, distracting her. ‘We both have been flying since we were young, and I’ve broken more than once through my parent’s broom shed’.

‘I thought your dad was the one who taught you how to fly’.

‘He did, but he and my mom were a bit protective. You know, I was their only son… They wanted me to fly safely, and it took them a while to see that if they didn’t want me to do something, then -’

‘Then they shouldn’t forbid you’, Ginny concludes for him, smiling knowingly. ‘Yeah, half the reason I wanted to fly so much was that my mom said I was too young and my brothers refused to let me play’.

‘See? We were both rulebreakers’. He winks at her. ‘Between you and me, that’s what attracted Lily and Harry to us’.

She raises her eyebrows.

‘Harry broke more rules than I ever did’.

‘Says the girl who once broke the headmaster’s office to steal a sword’, remembers James fondly. ‘Still, they both like to break some rules now and then, but their passion is not on it. That’s why we are so good to them. We encourage this side of them’.

‘You approve us. I mean, me and Harry, together’.

Ginny doesn’t know why this information is important to her; it should be something that she already knew, but still a part of her feels warm at the thought. It’s like if she had always wondered if James and Lily would like her, would approve her relationship with Harry, would cheer them...

He throws her a funny look.

‘Of course I do. I mean, for a while I thought Harry was totally going to miss you, and Lily had to forbid me of doing anything - I was just going to nudge him in the right direction, come on -, but things turned out perfectly, didn’t they? You should see me when you first kissed - I was practically waving little flags written “H&G” in a heart…’

His voice suddenly stops, and James blinks as if he realizes he is oversharing. Ginny’s smile, which first came out when he was telling his reaction, dies slowly as she registers what he is saying.

It’s wrong, somehow. James Potter couldn’t be there.

Harry first kissed her in the Gryffindor Common Room, after the Quidditch game and he was alone because he’d been in detention with Snape - Snape who had always disliked Harry, even though he’d protected Harry all in the name of a long-lost love…

A love that had died with her husband years ago.

Ginny blinks and then she chokes as if the air is not enough to breathe, as if she is underwater instead of flying well above ground. With a sigh, James pushes her towards one of the stands and she barely notes he’s helping her to sit.

She breathes slowly before returning to look at James Potter. He looks younger now somehow, younger than her even, barely in his twenties.

And he looks worried at her, which she thinks is kind of ironic considering he’s been dead for the last twenty-four years.

Oh, goodness, he is dead. And if she is seeing him… She remembers Harry telling her, so many years ago, how he died once, how he saw Dumbledore then...

‘You are fine’, James assures her, looking at her as if he knows exactly what’s on her mind. ‘You’re sleeping on the couch of your house right now’.

She nods, still dumbfound, and her hand falls to her lap. Her flat lap.

Now panic crushes over her, more than before when she thought she was dead, and she remembers exactly why the doctor told her she shouldn’t fly anymore, why she hadn’t played Quidditch in the last six months…

‘Your baby is fine too’, adds James. There is a thoughtful smile on his face. ‘This is just a dream, Ginny’.

Relief floods over her, even though she can’t help but think it’s strange not feeling her swollen belly or being able to see her feet.

Now that there is no problem - that her baby is safe - she looks around curiously. As if the mist of early had suddenly vanished, she can see the Hogwarts castle in the distance.

‘I never really played anywhere else’, says James fondly, looking in the same direction. ‘All my Quidditch career was here in Hogwarts, that’s why you are dreaming of here’. He sighs. ‘People always told me I should’ve played professionally’.

Ginny remembers hearing Sirius and Remus describing James, a long time ago, on quiet nights in Grimmauld Place.

‘Sirius always told me how good you were, Mr. -’, his eyes catch hers and she grins. ‘James’.

‘I enjoyed showing off too much. Here in Hogwarts it may have worked, but it’s a cooperative game, I would have sucked playing it in a real league’.

‘I don’t know’, says Ginny slowly. ‘What I like chasing, more than seeking, is teamwork, knowing the other players and working together as one. And for all I’ve heard, you were very good at making people trust you and trusting back’.

‘With one exception’, he murmurs and there is a shadow on his face. ‘Well, I never had the opportunity nor the interest. But who knows what might have happened?’

Ginny feels the same shadow in her heart. She doesn’t know what James Potter would have done with his life, but there are other things she knows – how he’d watch every game that Harry played, how he’d be his son’s most passionate fan, how he’d give his grandchildren their first broomstick.

This thought makes her sad and she feels tears coming to her eyes, as easily as during the first trimester of her pregnancy, when everything made her cry.

‘Oh, no, no’, James says hurriedly, looking at her worriedly. ‘This dream is not supposed to upset you. I thought I could distract you’.

‘Sorry, it’s just - I wish you had played Quidditch instead of being in a war…’

‘I’ve fought in a war so Harry and you and all your generation could be free to do whatever you want. And if it meant I’d die for it, I’d do it again without thinking’. He smiles assuringly. ‘That’s what being a parent means, Ginny. Doing anything for your child’.

She bits her lips and looks at James Potter’s eyes. Even though the colour is very different from Harry’s, she thinks there is the same comfort there, the same patience and the belief that things will turn out fine somehow if you just never give up.

‘I don’t know how to be a mother’, she admits, whispering something that she hadn’t dared say out loud because she never thinks anyone could understand her. Her mother had seven children, Hermione doesn’t think of kids yet and Harry…

Harry is even more worried about himself as a parent than her, and all things considered, she doesn’t want to burden him with her worries.

‘No one does because there is not a formula’. He chuckles lightly. ‘Me and Lily - I don’t know who was more in panic. We were young, we never had even discussed kids, the war was at its peak… But we managed. You will too, and you won’t be alone. That makes all the difference. Sirius, Remus and -’, he hesitates briefly, ‘- Peter didn’t know how to change diapers any better than we, but having them there, having a family… That’s what you need and that’s what you already have’.

‘It’s just not this. I can learn all these things and Harry is there to help but… I worry about me’. She avoids his eyes. ‘I know it’s incredibly selfish, but I don’t know what I will do with a kid, it changes everything, and I’m scared… Not very Gryffindor of me, I know’.

‘The thing I’ve learnt is that being a Gryffindor has less to do with never being afraid and more with never letting fear control you. And from what I’ve seen of you, Ginny, you never let anything control you’.

She nods, in silence. Not being controlled is something she is adamant about ever since she was eleven.

‘You get the right to be scared for you. Of course you do. You don’t stop being you when you become a mother. And you are twenty-three. You still have time to figure it out’. He gestures to the field. ‘If you want to go back, you can. If you want to lay down and retire, you can too. Like you once said, everything is possible if you’ve got enough nerve – and you have that more than most’.

She lets the words – her words – fill her, trusting in them.

‘I - thank you, James’.

‘No problem’, he says dismissively. ‘That’s me, calming future parents’.

‘What?’

‘Nothing’. He presses his lips for a few seconds. ‘That is why you are dreaming now, you know? I saw how worried you were, and I thought maybe we could talk a little. It’s always good to chat with your favourite daughter-in-law’.

‘Am I not the only one?’

‘Still my favourite’, he promises, and Ginny believes in him.

She glances at him. Now James is playing with a Golden Snitch that has just appeared, almost absently, seeming to just enjoy the wind that messes with his hair.

Now she knows she’s dreaming, these things seem to make less sense than before, but still she knows – even though no one told her before – that, like her, James always felt better flying than walking on the ground. If she closes his eyes, she can imagine being with Harry in the living room of the Potter’s house, listening to James recounting his best Quidditch matches, laughing of how he exaggerates in his stories until Lily teases him with the description of what really happened.

(‘I wasn’t knocked by the Bludger, Lily, it was just a scratch’) (‘James, you stayed on the Hospital Wing for three days) (‘Only because you were there watching over me, I could have left the first day, but you were so worried that I let you care for me’) (‘You prat, I was worrying madly over you’) (‘That’s because you were already madly in love with me’) (‘Merlin, could you two find a room to ourselves? You are embarrassing me in front of my girlfriend’)

Ginny blinks, disorientated. These memories can’t be real, but somehow she can almost feel the heat from the fireplace, the softness of the couch as if she and Harry were sitting there now. She can hear their laughter echoing in the room.

‘I know’, James says quietly and sadly. ‘It would be amazing if it had happened, wouldn’t it?’

‘How –‘

‘I think you are just one of those people with the power of imagining. Seeing what it could have been’. He sighs, looking beyond her. ‘It’s good, but it’s also dangerous’.

‘It doesn’t do to dwell on dreams and forget to live’, she recites, thinking of Harry telling her this a long time ago.

‘Dumbledore always had the best phrases. It’s a good advice’. He smiles. ‘Still, Ginny, if there is one thing you could really remember from this dream… Talk to Harry. About your worries. He will listen and support you’. He sighs. ‘Almost ten years and that kid is still deeply in love with you, you know?’

‘I do’, says Ginny calmly.

Their love is one of the things that always keeps her going. Harry encourages her as much as he encourages him, and she doesn’t know how she’d deal with their unplanned and unexpected pregnancy if it wasn’t for him.

‘Well, it’s obvious by now, but I always supported you. I told Lily ever since you first defended him that you would be together’. He grins. ‘It earned me five sickles’.

Ginny doesn’t know what money is good for someone who is not alive, but she is tactful not to say anything.

‘So Lily didn’t support me?’, she asks instead, rather worriedly.

James blinks.

‘What? No, of course she did. But she bet you’d be together only in his Seventh Year, and I bet Sixth. Harry was much better than me, he couldn’t take that much time…’

‘He took long enough’, Ginny says playfully. This brings another sad smile to his face.

‘Well, he was slow considering -’

‘He was too busy saving the wizarding world, yes’.

‘I saw you two, you know’. He rolls his eyes. ‘Well, not when you took your strolls in the grounds and certainly not in all those detours to broom cupboards, but when you were sitting together in the Common Room, just side by side, holding hands, hugging. This is something Harry never had enough of in his life. Physical contact. If I could give you any advice… Hug your kid. Let him always know he’s loved and cherished’.

‘I will’, she promises. ‘Harry too’.

James nods, then he raises.

‘I think our time is almost up. How about a last flight around the pitch? I know you miss flying’.

‘Oh, I do’. She grabs her broom, but before she mounts it, she turns to him. ‘Huh, James? I know that Harry would probably say something like this is real as long as I think it is… But just between us, is this real?’

‘Harry is usually right about these things’, he says cryptically, winking at her.

‘So if it’s real… no offense, but why seeing me, not Harry?’

‘It was you who needed some comfort and Harry already knows I am always with him. Plus, I couldn’t help but think…’

He hesitates, looking sheepishly at her.

‘I just noticed - like I said, I watch sometimes and - I know you know it’s a boy - I noticed that you and Harry never discussed names - so if it’s up for suggestion -’

‘James’, she stops him, smiling. ‘Harry and I never discussed it because there was never a question. Our baby will be called James, there wasn’t ever doubt about it’.

‘Oh’.

James’ grin is infectious, like watching the sun burning, and Ginny is reminded of how brightly Harry smiled when she told him he was going to be a father.

She’d always listened to people saying how Harry looks like his father, but this is the first time she really sees it. It’s more than the physical appearance.

She wishes Harry were with her in this dream.

‘I was just worried, you know’, James says after a minute, with barely contained satisfaction. ‘If you would think of naming him Elvendork - even though it’s unisex, always good - or after Severus Snape, imagine that’.

‘James Severus would sound catastrophic’, Ginny grins at the horror in his face. ‘But I’m more inclined to James Sirius. Much more explosive and -’

‘Marauder’, completes James, smiling. ‘That kid will be lucky to have you as his parents’.

‘Thank you, James. Not only for your confidence in us, but for… well, everything’.

‘It’s me who has to thank you. You gave Harry a family. That’s the only thing I ever wished for him’.

He mounts his broom.

‘Shall we?’

She laughs, delighted, and joins him for a last flight in the field.

#Harry and Ginny #Hinny #James Potter #hinny fanfic #pre-epilogue #Harry Potter fanfiction #James Potter dreamverse #jily #Dreamverse #t: fanfiction

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pikablob · 3 years

Note

So for the ask game, what are your headcannons for Hilda, Johanna and Gerda? Individually of course! :)

-🪄📚❤️

Send me a character and i’ll give an example of each:

Headcanon A: what I think realistically Headcanon B: what I think is fucking hilarious Headcanon C: what is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends Headcanon D: what would never work with canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway

Hilda:

A: Hilda’s really good at identifying edible plants; she doesn’t know the science behind it or their proper names or anything, but years of exploring the wilderness have taught her what is and isn’t safe to eat.

B: Hilda still has the sword from The Witch. She has a habit of leaving it around the house, much to Johanna’s annoyance, and she brings it with her on adventures whenever she remembers. She’d never use it to hurt a creature, but she absolutely has threatened Ahlberg with it at least once.

C: By the end of season 2, Hilda is convinced internally that she’s a bad person and especially a bad daughter. She’s had those feeling since the end of season 1, when she didn’t get any badges, but by season 2 she thinks that Johanna wishes she was “better”, that she didn’t run off or go on adventures, but she doesn’t think she can ever be the person she thinks her mum wants her to be.

D: IDK if it doesn’t work with canon, I think it probably does, but I really like to headcanon Hilda as autistic - she struggles with new people and has very strong RSD, although she has gotten better at hiding it, and she has a big special interest in nature!! The part that doesn’t work with canon is that I love the idea she stims by flapping her hands (especially when she’s really excited) or otherwise pacing back and forth a lot (projecting? me? nope XD)

Johanna:

A: Johanna used to be an adventurer in her younger years. I think she got into it older than Hilda is now, but she used to roam the wilderness just like her daughter did. She’s a bit out of practice now, but there’s a reason she volunteered to go back for Twig.

B: Johanna is buff; like, she’s really strong underneath that sweater. Everyone (i.e. Gerda, who gets flustered at her stronk gf) is surprised cause she can lift way more than you’d think by looking at her.

C: Johanna's really insecure about her abilities as a parent (her own parents were bad, and she’s estranged from them at best); one of the reasons she’s becoming more protective and less supportive of Hilda is because she felt responsible for endangering Hilda and like it would be her fault if her daughter got hurt. She still doesn’t realise that all she’s doing is pushing Hilda away and making her feel bad.

D: Johanna has no formal art training outside of doing a bit at school when she was a kid - she’s entirely self-taught because her parents didn’t support her making a career out of it. As a result some of her technique is a bit ‘wonky’ by professional standards - she has her own way of doing things, but she likes the results and people still commission her so she must be doing something right.

Gerda:

A: Gerda originally enlisted in the Safety Patrol as a pilot, and she’s qualified on a few different aircraft. Initially her duties were only to fly the airship for air patrols, but over time she was promoted due to her dilligence. She’s still the only one on the force certified to fly the airship.

B: Gerda is close friends with the Bellkeeper, and they like to rag on Ahlberg a lot behind his back. Sometimes they’ll go out for drinks together, and have a friendly contest to see who can come up with the best insult for their boss. It’s her way of blowing off steam, and getting out her frustrations over him.

C: Gerda has wanted to join the Safety Patrol from a young age; in particular, she admired the work they did and wanted to help keeping the city safe. But the higher up she got in the Patrol, the more she realised Ahlberg had no idea what he was doing and that he only had his position due to nepotism. She’s found herself becoming increasingly disillusioned, trying to keep her ideals alive while also having to deal with his failures and lack of appreciation for her.

D: Outside of her work in the Safety Patrol, Gerda is actually very supportive of the kids’ antics (especially after she starts dating Hilda’s mum). She can be surprisingly chaotic when she’s off-shift and helps Hilda and friends on a couple of adventures.

#nach0 #hilda the series #hilda netflix #ask pika #hilda (hilda)#johanna hilda #gerda gustav #mentioned gerdanna #friends

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kirisaki-daichi-scenarios · 3 years

Text

the artiste; hanamiya makoto

tags; fashion/modelling industry!au, lowkey sugar daddy!hanamiya, not telling you anything else so you gotta read these 3.8k words now

tw; unhealthy weight loss techniques

note: charon is the dude who carries souls of the deceased across the river styx - the river which connects the earth and the underworld

“Well, aren’t you pretty.”

These are the first words Hanamiya ever directs towards you, raising his champagne glass as you approach, with the same sleazy smile across his lips that you’ve seen on the face of every man who steps into the host club to soak up the atmosphere of women and wine.

“I’m flattered,” you upturn your lips - amiable but not too friendly, ladylike but not cold.

“Not you’re not,” the man’s tone holds none of its previous singsong. In your shock, you lose the smile, “you’re sick and tired of hearing the same words come out of every man’s lips, right? Nor are you particularly subtle with how you looked up at the clock.”

“I apologise-“

“Don’t. I’m not kidding when I say I’m pleased to meet you,” he stretches out his hand, takes yours and shakes it hard, “Makoto, Hanamiya Makoto. And I’m here to be your Charon.”

At first, your conversations with Hanamiya - always at the club, of course, though they grow more frequent, and soon he doesn’t even need to request you either; all the staff know that he’s only got eyes for you - are stilted and stiff. He’s charismatic but you’re not trained to talk to charismatic men.

“I’m not like the others, am I?” Hanamiya chuckles as if savouring his own sense of superiority. “I don’t work with the script your manager tells you to follow. I bet you’ve never told a single one of your customers what you actually think about them. You know, I used to work for a place like this, a common place pimp, picking up pretty girls off the street for the manager - that’s how I know just about everything you’re thinking. I understand more about your profession than you do.”

“What do you do now?” you ask, noting how the discussion is slowly falling into dangerous territory (the manager’s number one rule: never tell the customer anything they can’t just see).

“I’m a fashion designer, producing haute couture gowns for those with too much money to spend.”

It’s only then that you understand why his name sounded so familiar. And maybe Hanamiya sees how your eyes sparkle at the recollection, because the grin slips back onto his lips.

After that, conversations start getting easier. Hanamiya’s still a little too questioning, just a touch too intrusive, but you can’t avoid the questions of a man who dwells in the summit of society, which you could only dream of looking up at as a child. After all, who hasn’t fantasied about walking down the runway, being the object of everyone’s envy, being the centre of all the photos?

And that’s the worst part of Hanamiya - he keeps saying it’s possible, for you.

“It’s your bones,” Hanamiya tells you, running his hand across your cheek, his fingers pressing down gently onto what lies beneath your skin (the manager’s second rule: never let customers touch you in any way vaguely intimate - insist on boundaries). “God made you to be a model.”

Of course, you tell him you’re not interested (you’ve got a comfortable paying job now, and it doesn’t lack in glamour either, entertaining rich old men with pearls on your neck), but, every time he visits, he asks again. And it slowly gets harder to resist how sincerely he squeezes your hand, how authentic his smile has become (no longer do you feel the sensation that he’s inspecting you - he’s a friend now, more than anything), and how this could be your only chance to fulfil those childhood dreams that would have never stood a chance, if not for Hanamiya.

“I need you,” murmurs Hanamiya, staring so intensely into your eyes that it’s like he’s not looking at you at all, “you’re perfect.”

“Why me?”

“There’s this one dress... It’ll only reach its true potential if you’re the one wearing it. Just one show, just a couple steps down the catwalk, that’s all you have to do. If you don’t like it, you can leave the industry the next day.”

You glance around the club you’ve come to call a second home, at its plushy red sofas which look almost blood-coloured, dimly lit by the chandeliers overhead.

“I’m happy here.” Once, that wouldn’t have been a lie.

Hanamiya sits back, but his gaze still doesn’t leave yours. “You enjoy grandeur here, but only in the night. Don’t you want it in the light too?”

That evening, you quit your job.

It’s raining outside. As the two of you rush to his car, parked a little while away, Hanamiya holds his coat over you head.

“I thought your coat was too expensive to get wet!” you laugh, your hands still shaking with the adrenaline of your own rashness, the soles of your shoes slapping against the puddles on the pavement.

“You’re way more expensive, angel,” replies Hanamiya.

In the moment, with his raindrops glittering across his hair, and a boyish smile across his face, you can forget that this man is a multi-millionaire who now owns your future. Right now, he just seems like an ally - maybe even a friend.

“You’ll stay with me for now,” Hanamiya’s saying as he slips his key into the lock of a tall mahogany door, with his face turned away from you, “model apartments, agencies: they’re all shams. It’s tricky business for a newcomer. You’re safest with me.”

You’ve worked long enough in a shady industry to know that it’s never wise to put all your eggs in one basket.

“Why not an agency? Don’t I need someone to represent me?”

“Agencies only exist to take as large a cut of your earnings as they can, and get you in debt - that’s what the apartments they set you up with are for - and then make you reliant on them, so they can keep taking your money. They don’t care about your potential,” the light down the corridor is flickering, casting fleeting shadows over Hanamiya’s form which distort his face as he turns towards you, “not like I do.”

Something in his tone suggests to you that, firstly, you don’t know the first thing about this industry you’re stepping into, and that, secondly, you don’t need to know. You just need to stick with him.

You can trust him (you think).

After all, Hanamiya’s the one who’s responsible for your being a model in one of the biggest fashion events in this half of the year - you, someone with no experience apart from a couple hours practice with an expert (who had only agreed to it, you understood, because they were desperate to work with Hanamiya too). He’s also the one who kept you company during the dress rehearsal, when all the other models were eyeing you, mumbling together from the distance, dressed in their various shades of blacks and greys and purples like a plague about to smother you whole.

“Ignore them, they’re just envious that you’re the star of the show,” Hanamiya whispered, his lip just grazing the top of your ear, before announcing to the room, “work hard, ladies, and maybe, one day, you’ll get to be my favourite instead!”

You had asked him to not make such a big show of it. One of the best parts of working at the host club had been sitting with your fellow hosts at the end of the day, slipping off your high heels to give your feet a rest, gossiping together about that day’s customers. Making friends with these new colleagues of yours, you explained to Hanamiya, was just as important to you. You didn’t want to be the lone wolf; you didn’t want to feel like you were walking down the runway alone.

“Why?” Hanamiya had replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Looking at the mirror before you, you were convinced the other models were glaring at you. “Can’t you cope with the pressure?”

And, now, in the final hour before the first (and potentially last; now it’s so close, you’re starting to realise just how unqualified you are) show of your life, still no one’s talking to you. Even the three people working on you - two on your hair, one of your makeup (in Hanamiya’s words, the star shouldn’t have to worry about anything but the walk ahead) - refuse to speak to you, or even meet your eye in the mirror. Your only option for conversation is Hanamiya, who’s barely interested in you. His eyes keep straying to look over the preparations being performed before him, like a boy studying his ant farm.

“You’re got too much trust in me,” you say to Hanamiya, as your head gets wrenched back by one of the stylists, “I could ruin your whole show.”

“If I thought that,” Hanamiya’s eyes flicker over you, and then return to observing the other models, “I wouldn’t have offered the position to you.”

“I’m no professional model.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Hanamiya’s casual smile slips off his face. He’s displeased. You have to put more trust in his decisions, you remind yourself, as black lipstick and eyeshadows is smudged across your lips and eyelids, giving you the appearance of a banshee.

Around 10 minutes before you’re supposed to go out, you’re helped into the gown you’ll be wearing (the other models have been dashing back and forth to get changed into their next outfits, whereas you just have the one), and hairspray is once again sprayed over the crow’s nest that was once your hair (you look deranged, you think to yourself, but Hanamiya gives a satisfied hum once he sees the stylist’s finished product).

And then, in the final seconds, Hanamiya approaches you - “make me proud” - and pushes you onto the catwalk.

One step in front of the other. Let the satin skirt swing. Don’t move your arms too much. Expose the lace that attaches the sleeves to the skirt, hanging down like great wings of spider’s webs. And keep your arms raised, just slightly. Even when the heaps of black satin, piled across your biceps and forearm, make your muscles burn, keep your arms up. Look confident. But haunted too. Walk slow. Let your hips slip to the side, but don’t overdo it. Not like the other models. Remember, you’re the witch. You’re wearing the dress of the witch. You’re not a model.

You’re the star.

At the end - and it’s curious how long the runway feels whilst you’re on it, and how short it looks when it’s over - the lights dim, and, the minute you’re backstage, high on adrenaline, you race into Hanamiya’s arms. You’re shaking too much to speak, but Hanamiya holds you closely, like you could crumple any minute.

“Good girl,” he purrs, “you did exactly what I told you to.”

And then he tosses you to the side, as he goes out to greet the applause.

-----

You’re not sure how (in the photos, you look like a woman possessed - perhaps you shouldn’t have been concentrating so hard on remembering Hanamiya’s advice) but the show’s a success. More than that, you’re a success. Suddenly, your schedule starts being booked up. There’s magazines interested in this new look, photographers keen on being the ones to represent it, and even the tabloids have been writing about “designer Hanamiya Makoto finds yet another hidden talent!”

“’Another’?” you ask Hanamiya, stretched out underneath his bed’s thin black duvet - he keeps saying he’ll find you your own place to stay, but he’s yet to refer you somewhere, and you’re not sure you’d want to go, even if he did.

“There’s been a couple models in the past that I brought to the industry,” he replies, slipping off a dark grey tie, unbuttoning the top hole of his black shirt, “but none with your potential, angel.”

Your attention returns to the magazine, as you reread the article for the tenth time. There’s something addicting about seeing your name written there, seeing your photo printed into the glossy paper. Over and over, you run your fingers across the ‘truly the star of the show’ printed in Times New Roman, and, every time, the words bring a shiver up your spine. That’s you. You’re the star. You’re Hanamiya’s star.

-----

A few weeks after the show, and your days are spent on booking after booking. Today’s job involves wearing a collection of what Hanamiya deems as ‘funeral dresses’ - long black frocks, not quite ballgowns but clearly not designed for the average grieving mademoiselle. And it’s only the three of you in the studio today: you, the photographer, and Hanamiya.

(You’re not sure why Hanamiya attends all these bookings of yours. He’s a busy man, after all; just organising your schedule seems a lot of work for someone whose main job is focused on something entirely different. The one time you asked him as to how he finds the time, he replied that, “as the artist, I cannot possibly leave you - my muse. Not unless you want me to?” He raised an eyebrow, and you never asked again, knowing very well that you weren’t ready to be separated from his company).

“Hand up a little,” says the photographer now, “no, put it back. The pose isn’t working. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

He approaches you, squints, grins, and begins to adjust the positioning of your legs and torso. His hands slowly slip to your hips - you bite your lip as to not gasp - and then to the inside of your thigh, give your skin a slight squeeze.

And that’s when you slap him. Storm over to Hanamiya.

“Makoto, this man is no photographer,” you retort, filling your voice with rage to hide how your hands are shivering, “he’s a commonplace groping pervert at best.”

“Hush up, angel,” Hanamiya doesn’t even look up from his book, flicks to the next page “the plot twist is coming up.”

Just the three of you in the room, you think once more, frozen to the spot. And then the photographer guides you back to your position, and, though he’s less loose with his hands now, his grin has only grown.

“You’re being paid to be a mannequin,” he says, rubbing his thumb down the side of your torso, as if adjusting how the dress sits on you, “keep that in mind.”

Perhaps it’s due to his book, but, in the corner of the room, Hanamiya’s starting to laugh.

-----

In the evenings, the two of you return to Hanamiya’s apartment together. He cooks - you always offer to, but, in his words, you’re too good for household chores - and then, sat at opposite ends of the mahogany table, you both eat and discuss the day. Even now that he spends most of his day with you (and when you’re not on a booking with him, you’re trapped in his apartment, whose key you’re still yet to receive, not that you mind, of course: there’s plenty of fashion magazines here to entertain you, many of which now include photos of yourself), Hanamiya continues to ask you questions about your life. It’s like nothing has changed since the two of you were chatting together at the host club.

But that’s the pleasant thing about Hanamiya. He’s always so easy to talk to. He never treats you like the man who’s brought you all this success; rather, he treats you like you’re the one who’s enriching his life.

And that’s why, months later, sharing a meal together as per usual, you raise to Hanamiya your concerns as to how you’ve been getting less bookings recently.

“Of course I know you’re busy,” you twist the spaghetti around your fork, “but I’m getting more popular with each passing day. I need to keep up with it.”

“Oh, and that’s my job, is it?”

“You’ve always done it before.”

“Aren’t you getting a bit above your station, angel dearest? If you want more jobs, make a network and find them.” You can tell, from the way Hanamiya’s voice has dropped, from the way he’s placed his wineglass back down on the table, that you’re pushing your luck, “I’m no slave of yours.”

Fighting to keep your voice composed, as you wind the pasta tighter around your fork, you respond, “then at least give me a larger percentage of the payout from my bookings than I’m currently getting.”

“Do you even know what percentage you’re getting right now?”

You don’t. You’ve been relying on Hanamiya to handle the financial side of things; he always said that it made more sense for him to manage the books, since he was the one finding the jobs in the first place.

Your silence is telling and Hanamiya grins, takes a long sip of his wine.

“Just remember, I brought you into this world. It wouldn’t be hard for me to take you back out of it,” he purrs, glancing at how your plate is still full, “and that reminds me. Do be careful with what you’re eating, angel. I wouldn’t want you to lose your edge.”

That evening, you throw up the little of the spaghetti that you had eaten. It’s time for a change, you reprimand yourself. You can’t let yourself fall out of Hanamiya’s favour.

It’s with this in mind that you start swallowing down cotton balls, dipped in juice beforehand, and, as you feel them slide down your throat, you tell yourself that you’re full.

But still, the number of bookings continue to decrease. Those that you do attend are often filled with other models, so you’re just one of the crowd, one of many faceless limbs and torsos. No one speaks to you, even though Hanamiya’s not spending much time with you either. You stand in the queue, waiting for your photo, and, as the photographers criticise your inability to look natural in a pose or to even maintain it - “is your head full of wool, woman? Keep your hand there!” - you think back to your first (only, so far) fashion show. How you were the star of the show. How you’re still the star of the show.

These petty little bookings with their petty little photographers simply don’t understand your potential.

That’s what you’re repeating to yourself during your lunch break, having snuck outside to swallow down another couple cotton balls - this time dipped in chilli oil (if your mouth is burning, you can’t be hungry, right?). The sky glares down at you, painfully bright, as you run your tongue over your lips again and again, feeling the grooves in the flesh, where you’ve bitten into your lips hard enough to make them bleed.

“You’re the girl that did Hanamiya Makoto’s last show, aren’t you?”

“And what if I am?”

The woman, who’s just stepped outside to stand beside you, blows smoke into your face, before inspecting you more closely. She’s tall, and there’s something skeletal in her fingers as she brings the cigarette up to her lips once more.

“He’s losing interest in you, isn’t he?”

“How dare you-“

She glances down at the remaining cotton ball in your palm.

“Just take coke if you want to get skinny,” the woman states, looking you up and down like she’s pitying you, “it’s downright weird to eat cotton. Coke speeds up your metabolism, makes you less hungry too.”

“Coke also gets people addicted, and then killed.”

“In that man’s mind,” she leans back against the wall, as a cloud of grey trickles from her lips, “beauty comes first. So us models who hope to work for him can’t prioritise our futures. You’re not going to last long with your current attitude.”

“What would you know? I bet you’ve never been in one of his shows.” Your words come out tenser that you had wanted them to. “I’m the star of-“

“There’s nothing permanent in this industry,” she lets her cigarette fall to the floor, and grinds it into ashes with the heel of her platform boots, “but I guess you’re still new to the game.”

-----

The booking grows worse throughout the day. As the humidity increases, the photographers’ tempers shorten - and Hanamiya doesn’t look your way when you get yelled at once again. You’re spending even longer stuck in the queues, standing silently, listening to the conversations of the models around you.

One woman glances at you with a smirk, and then tells her companion, “there’s rumours he’s found a new girl, another host club adoptee.”

You don’t have to guess who the ‘he’ is.

So, that evening, when Hanamiya returns late as he has been doing for the past coupe weeks, you confront him. Dressed in the slick black dress he bought you, wearing the diamond necklace he offered you as a birthday present, you pin him between against the wall, the minute he walks through the door.

“You’ve been at the host club, haven’t you? They’re saying you’ve found someone new, that you’re going to replace me!”

Loosening his tie, Hanamiya murmurs, “you’re not my wife, you know, angel.”

“I am the star of your show,” you hiss in response.

Hanamiya pushes your torso away from his, and something about his touch, or perhaps how you haven’t eaten anything substantial since 6am this morning, makes your knees weak. You collapse to the ground, your head slamming against the wall beside his leg.

Slowly, Hanamiya rolls up his sleeves, grabs your chin and pulls it up - hard.

“Don’t tell me this is all you’ve become - a jealous, talentless bitch?” He smiles, but there’s nothing entertained in his eyes. “All my expectations for you, and yet here you are, keeling over like a donkey in a fucking third world country.”

You fight against the pressure of his hand on your chin, but his hold is too strong to go against. “The new collection, “Styx’s Allure’… I’m going to participate in that show, right? Everyone’s talking about it, all the magazines are raving about it; I can’t not be in it.”

“Sure you can,” Hanamiya pulls you back up to your feet, and now it’s you being pressed against the wall, “in fact, I’ll save you the trouble of having to wait to find out. You’re not in it. You can beg all you want, and you still won’t get it. There’s a cute little girl at your old employer’s place; she’s much more suited-“

“I thought you said I’d be the star!” you snarl, overwhelmed with an exhausted rage.

“I thought you’d be capable of being the star,” sighs Hanamiya, running his hands around your neck, like he’s contemplating just how thin it is, just how easy it would be to snap, “but don’t worry, angel, you’re not entirely useless.

Just the other day, I was talking to a taxidermist about you.

You know, some things just don’t reach their true potential in life.”

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professorsnape394 · 3 years

Text

The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Thirteen: Outrageous Outbursts

A/N: This is the thirteenth part to my fanfiction ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-16 can be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below if you wish to be added to my tag list.

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 3520

Warnings: swearing, slut shaming, moderate violence.

Credits to Gif Creator

Practically bursting through the doors of the three broomsticks Aria Dumbledore was very quickly greeted by Alexander who led her to a secluded table in the corner of the pub.

"Are you okay, you seemed stressed?" He laughed nervously, upon noticing the fact she was slightly sweating from her walk from the castle.

"I need a drink." She demanded simply, about to make her way to the bar.

"Sit. I'll get it for you, you look like you need a rest." He continued to laugh.

"Fire Whiskey. And make it double!" She shouted after him, to which he replied with a simple thumbs up.

Almost immediately after Alexander left, a pair of mischievous red headed boys bounced into sight, pulling a chair up to the table. Removing her head from her hands, Aria could only let out a long, hard sigh at the sight of them.

"What going on here then, teach." Fred questioned sceptically with the raise of an eyebrow. "Who's the lad?"

"A friend." Aria replied through gritted teeth, wishing they would just leave her alone. She had been stressed out enough today as it were.

"Mmmmhmmm." George hummed. "He's a pretty good-looking friend if you ask me, professor."

"And he chose a spot all the way in the back, pretty intimate don't you think?" Fred continued.

"Pretty romantic. wouldn't you agree, Freddie?" The Weasley boy nudged his brother.

"Very romantic." The second Weasley twin nodded in agreement.

"Listen this isn't appropriate, I'm your professor, you best be gone before he gets back." Aria warned, while the boys continued to heckle her.

"You're only a professor in training. Besides it isn't against any rules for you speak to us out with the castle grounds, you've got nothing to worry about." George pointed out.

"Unless it's us she's worried about, eh Georgie?" The two boys turned to glare at their potion's mistress, waiting for her to crack.

Groaning loudly, Aria knew she couldn't get rid of the boys as easily as she had hoped. "Look, it's not a date. It's just a few drinks with a friend, okay? And he deserves to be able to come back to me without the two of you causing trouble. So go on, scram."

"Alright, alright, we'll go." They obeyed.

"Just one last thing." Fred spoke slowly, turning back on his heel. "Speaking of nice guys deserving things, how's the love life going?"

She knew it was coming, there was no escaping it. But for her sake, she hoped the boys could be trusted enough to keep their mouths shut, at least until the end of the year when she would be forced to confront all her problems head on.

"He deserves to know, Aria. You have to say something soon."

"I know, I know." She whispered, bowing her head in shame. "I just need to figure things out for myself first. Please don't say anything about this."

The twins looked between them deliberating who their loyalties lay with. "If you promise it's not a date, we have no reason to." Fred stated.

"It's not, I promise." She said sincerely.

And with that the boys retreated to their table not too far away, still keeping a close eye on their professor.

Alexander returned from the bar with a tray full of drinks for the pair of them.

"I thought you'd need them." He chuckled. And he was right as Aria instantly downed the entirety of her Fire Whiskey in one gulp.

For the next few hours, the pair laughed and drunk together, and for the first time since she had arrived at Hogwarts, she felt she finally had one true friend. It was nice to finally be able to talk to someone her age and not have to constantly fight to have a conversation or speak about work the whole time.

Unfortunately, though, within seconds of her coming to this realisation, Aria's hopes of maintaining her relationship with her new found 'friend' was shattered. Alexander reached his hand across the table, resting it gently on top of her own. Slowly he picked it up, moving it towards his lips before place a soft kiss on the back of her hand.

From the corner of her eye, Aria saw the Weasley twins watching her intently, forcing her to yank her hand away from the man.

"Another Drink?" Aria asked, already getting up from the table, making her way to the bar.

"Umm, no thanks." He said slightly confused, watching her walk away.

Passing the Weasley twins she avoided eye contact, praying Alexander would not make another move. At this rate making friends was not worth risking the twins spilling her secrets.

Of course, as Saturday's always were, the Three Broomsticks was packed full of students socialising with their friends and so Aria thanked God for once in her life that she would not get served any time soon. Rehearsing over in her head how she was about to end this 'date' with Alexander, all Aria wanted to do at this moment was run back to Hogwarts and go to sleep. It had been a long a day.

Finally reaching the front of the queue, Aria was barely focusing on her surroundings.

"What can I get you?" The bartender asked.

"Fire Whiskey. Double." Two voices spoke at once.

Snapping back to reality upon hearing that so easily recognisable voice, Aria looked to her right to see none other than Severus Snape sitting at the corner of the bar, fondling an empty glass of Fire Whiskey.

"I'll get those right up." The bartender complied, obviously catching it was an awkward situation, and decided to get both the drinks at the same time.

"Severus." Aria said softly. "What are you doing here?"

"You are not the only one permitted to enjoy themselves with the occasional libation, Miss Dumbledore." He retorted, his words slightly running together, suggesting he had either been here a while, or had a lot to drink. Or both. Aria thought.

"Of course." She smiled awkwardly, not quite knowing how to respond.

"And your date." Snape spat, clearly unaware of how loud he was being. "How is it going?"

"Like I said before, Professor Snape. It is not a date." Aria tried to act a little more professional than her mentor, fully away the pub was full of Hogwarts students.

"Doesn't look like it from where I'm sitting, the two of you seemed rather close just now." Snape continued to mumble.

"You were watching us?" Aria questioned, to which Snape chose to remain silent.

"Two double Fire Whiskeys." The bartender announced.

Snape handed over his money, gesturing that he would be paying for both drinks.

Aria nodded a small thank you and made to leave.

Grabbing his drink from the table Snape stood up from his bar stool and started to walk alongside Aria, until gradually they came to a halt in the center of the room.

"Can I help you, Severus?" Aria huffed irritably.

Snape pondered for a moment, taking a large gulp of Fire Whiskey, deciding whether or not to speak.

Aria started to walk away, thinking he was never going to say anything.

"What are you trying to achieve." He hiccupped, bringing her back to attention.

"I'm sorry?" Aria asked, spinning on her heel to face him once more. "I don't think I know what you mean."

"I know what you're doing." He hiccupped again, leaning against a wooden pole in an attempt to stabilise his balance. "You're playing a game, but what do you get from it?"

"I have no idea what you're on about Snape, now if you don't mind, I'm going back to my-"

"Date?" He cut in, raising one eyebrow suggestively.

"No." Aria smirked sourly, knowing he was trying to put words in her mouth.

"Then what is it? Because, that boy over there is clearly interested in you and you're leading him on." He spat, his voice raising the more he spoke.

"None of this is any of your business, Professor Snape." Aria said still trying to remain professional and remove herself from the situation, knowing the man was clearly intoxicated. It was clear now to Aria that the majority of students in the pub were invested in listening in to their professor's conversation.

"There's no point denying it, I've seen it for myself. He's not the first, this boy." The potions master raised his voice, latching onto the woman's wrist, stopping her from leaving.

"Professor Snape, I think maybe you should quieten down a bit, people are listening." Fred interrupted as the twins bravely came to Aria's rescue.

"Aria maybe it's time to go." George whispered to her, pulling her back from the potions master.

"Here's more of them now. Students." Snape scoffed, completely ignoring anything the twins tried to say. "I bet before you came to Hogwarts, you done the same to them. Lead them on, drew them in with your sickening charms, then just left them on the hook for you. Look at them now, coming to your rescue."

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus. This is highly inappropriate." Aria tried to keep her composure, motioning to the Weasley boys to leave them, but it was obvious to everyone that a scarlet blush had begun to warm her cheeks. "You need to go home Severus. You've had too much to drink, you don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying. And I know that you're here on a date with some poor bloke whose got no chance and you'll happily admit that"

"That's not what's happening, you're twisting my words."

"And I know that all day you've been flirting with Igor Karkaroff." He continued, paying no mind no Aria's objections. "I found the two of you in a rather comprising position today after the Great Feast."

"You're exaggerating, Snape, you know fine well that's not what was going on." Aria cried, which again, Severus chose to ignore.

"You've even tried your godforsaken charms on me. You tried to get me on my own in your quarters to seduce me, you're constantly flirting in a feeble attempt to manipulate me. Thank god I'm not dull enough to fall for your sickening act. I mean even now, look at how you're dressed. I'm assuming it's for all our benefits, men have been gawking and drooling over you all day and you love it. You're a teacher dressed like a common whore, how utterly inappropriate. You'd have been fired by now if Dumbledore wasn't your precious grandfather."

"This has gone too far, Severus, you need to stop this now!" Aria demanded, her voice cracking a little as she tried to match his volume.

"I'm not done." He sneered at her, the venom in his voice, showing a side of her mentor she never wanted to encounter again.

"The icing on the fucking cake is, you done all of this, played all of these cruel, childish games, and all the while you're in a relationship." He paused, relishing in Aria's reaction. She froze on the spot like a deer caught in headlights. For the first time tonight her eyes connected with the professors. "Is he being played too? Or does he somehow benefit from your antics."

"How the hell do you know that." Aria whispered, her own tone turning sour.

"I saw the letter on your desk."

"You read my mail? How dare you! That is confidential. You just don't know when to stop do you?" Aria cried, utterly humiliated.

"What's going on here." Alexander chimed in, holding Aria by the arm attempting to get in between her and Snape. He had been stood aside, listening alongside the students, but didn't know how to process any of this information until now.

"Everything he's saying, it's not true!" Aria pleaded with her friend, praying he too wouldn't ridicule her in front of everyone. "But he is right, this wasn't supposed to be a date. Nothing will happen between us, I'm so sorry." She begged, trying to hold herself together.

"It's okay." Alexander whispered, not wanting to upset the woman further. "Come with me, I'll walk you home." He attempted to embrace her.

"We all know what that means." Snape scoffed, watching them walk away. "She'll probably do anything you want she's that much of a fucking slut."

Both Aria and Alexander stopped in their tracks. Aria's whole body froze, having no idea how to react. The word rung in her ears, sending a pain to her heart and making her body go numb as if she was being stabbed with a thousand tiny knives. This was not the first time she had been called that word, and it fucking hurt to hear.

Alexander on the other hand knew exactly how to react. He paused for a moment, hand wrapping tightly around his wand before changing his mind at the last minute. Before anyone knew what was happening Alexander swung a punch at Severus hitting him squarely in his right eye. The professor instantly doubled over swearing in pain.

The students listening in instantly made to look busy, not wanting to know what Severus Snape would do to retaliate. Unfortunately for those wanting to see a show, Snape simply fell to the nearest chair, keeping his head down.

Aria quickly pulled herself together knowing this was her mess to fix.

Alexander rubbed his knuckles to ease the pain, before wrapping an arm around Aria Dumbledore. "Come with me." He said.

"Actually Alexander, I think I better take him back to the castle." She gestured to the mass of black fabric and hair drooping over a table and chair.

"Are you mad, after all that he just said to you. There's no way I'm letting you walk alone with him. He should be fired for all he's done."

"He's drunk... and I provoked him really, it's not his fault." Aria lied. "He's not like this when he's sober, trust me."

After a few more minutes of persuasion Alexander finally let Aria have her way, and bid her goodbye.

By this time the whole of the pub was chattering and gossiping about what they had witnessed, but Aria knew this was not the time to address what had happened and she would just have to let time run its course. The only thing she could do not was please the screaming bartender and remove Severus from the premises.

Drunk and a little concussed it took the potions master a minute or two to come around, but by then Aria had managed to walk him out the pub and along the road back to Hogwarts.

"Why are you helping me." Snape slurred, as he stumbled his way along the path.

"Because I know you're not a bad guy." She said softly.

That evening Aria insisted on helping Snape into his private quarters. The effects of the night had begun to sober Severus up, the embarrassment rendering him speechless, but Aria couldn't help but worry for him. This was not a regular old outburst, something was obviously eating away at him, but she could not bring herself to ask what it was that drove him to that level of anger.

Not wanting to upset him further, Aria chose not to enter his bedroom and chose to stay in the main living area. Handing him a pint of water to sip on, the young Miss Dumbledore set out to arrange a place for him to sleep on the couch. She managed to gather a few stray blankets and pillows she had found lying around, and decided he was still too drunk to care whether or not he went to sleep in his clothes.

Crawling up on the couch beside where he sat, Aria help a make shift ice pack gently to his eye. It had already begun to swell and it was clear there would be a lot of bruising by the morning. Her heart hurt for him.

"Why are you doing this." Snape finally spoke, breaking the silence that had become so thick.

Aria took a deep intake of breath, not fully understanding herself why she was helping the man who had ridiculed in the worst possible way.

"I don't know." Was all she could say in return, shuffling closer to tend to his eye.

For what seemed like a lifetime, Snape's apprentice sat facing him on her knees, breathing slowly and deeply as she held the cold compress to his eye, desperately hoping the swelling would go down and result in minimal bruising. Though the bruising of his eye was the last thing Severus was concerned about. Not only had he embarrassed himself in front of half the student body, he had humiliated Aria and deeply hurt someone he truly cared about. Perhaps that's why he did it.

Severus knew the feelings he had for his assistant were becoming more real by the day and there was nothing he could do to stop them the more time they spent together. Perhaps his drunk-self had concluded that the only solution to his problem would be to drive her away, make her turn on him. But clearly his plan had failed. Now he was sat closer to her than he had ever been, watching her chest slowly rise and fall as she breathed in time to the beat of his heart.

Slowly Severus' lifted his gaze to the woman's face, watching her intently. For the first time since they had met, he saw a true sadness take over her, and he hated himself for being the reason she felt this way.

Snape suddenly felt completely dissociated from his body. He wasn't thinking, he didn't want to think. He had done enough of that in his lifetime and for once he just wanted to feel. Gingerly Snape nervously placed his hand over her own, catching Aria's attention as he removed the cloth of ice from his eye. Never breaking eye contact Severus shifted on the couch to face her better. She sat on her knees, her bare legs exposed, rubbing lightly against his own. Letting go of her hand, Severus softly placed it on her exposed waist.

Goosebumps immediately rose all over her body, when the professors hand rested on her waist. She had hoped he would just assume she was cold from holding the ice, but both of them knew this was not the case. She wanted to break her gaze, she couldn't stand how he was looking at her, but she could not force herself to look away. Never before had Aria encountered this side of Severus Snape, she didn't think anyone had, but she couldn't help herself from feeling enchanted.

Just as unexpectedly as the first had been, Severus placed a second hand on her cheek, while letting the first snake around her body to the small of her back. The couple's bodies had gradually came edged to each other and now they were so close they could feel each other's warm breath on their skins.

Severus dropped his eyes to Aria's mouth, almost contemplating his next move. He thought about it for so long, unable to make the final move. Their foreheads touched, and his nose brushed against hers, but he just did not have the nerve to close that final gap. Both Aria and Severus' breathing had picked up the pace, and as each jagged breath left their mouths, the atmosphere became even hotter and heavier.

Just as Severus worked up the courage to make his move Aria found herself snap back to reality. Jerking away from him, she left out a small gasp but quickly covered her mouth. "I'm sorry." She whispered, shaking her head as she saw the Snape's face fall. "I'm so sorry." She cried, tears forming in her eyes, as she backed away.

Severus pulled his hands a way, balling them into fists, knowing he had made a mistake. He got up from the couch just as Aria had done, moving backwards putting some distance between them.

"Aria..." He whispered, calling her by her name for the first time. He looked at her almost pleadingly. But even he didn't know whether he was begging her to stay or begging her for forgiveness.

"I have to go. I'm sorry Severus." She breathed again, fleeing from the room.

Just as Severus made to close the final gap between them, Aria thought back to his harsh words of the night. She remembered everything he had said, and it suddenly occurred to her that he may have been testing her. He had claimed she was playing games and using men. He knew she was in a relationship, why else would he do this? To try and seduce her completely out of the blue, he could only be trying to prove himself right, prove that she really was a user, a harlot, a slut.

Aria felt the tears pour from her eyes as she tried to make sense of the confusion Severus had caused. What exactly was he gaining from this? Why would he want to ridicule her even more than he already has? Maybe he was truly just a cruel man.

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel @lizlil

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